Protecting Innocence
by HelenLouise
Summary: A suspected case of child abuse becomes embroiled in political intrigue and Jesse's very career winds up at stake.
1. Chapter 1

Synopsis: A suspected case of child abuse becomes embroiled in political intrigue and Jesse's career winds up at stake.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM, I do own the ones that I created.

**Author's note: I meant to post this a long time before now, but work has been massively hectic of late. Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who read and reviewed "Need to Know". It is so nice to know there is still love for this wonderful fandom.**

**P.S. This was started a long time ago – and the formatting is a mess. I'll update as and when I have the time to fix it. **

**Thank you, Helen.**

PROTECTING INNOCENCE

By

Helen Louise

"Okay, what have we got?" Jesse Travis ran towards the gurney that was being wheeled through the doors of the ER, snapping on a pair of sterile gloves as he did so.

"Infant, approximately seven months old." The EMT's tone was clipped and professional, but her distress at the age of the casualty was evident in her eyes. "Acute cerebral trauma and cranial swelling; broken ribs and respiratory distress. He's been unconscious and unresponsive since we found him and CPR was administered at the scene."

"Okay, Trauma One." Jesse forced his own personal feelings aside as he put his stethoscope to the tiny chest. He glanced up at the nearest nurse. "Page Doctor O'Reilly and have her report down here – stat." As she hurried away, he began barking out his orders. "Get him started on oxygen. I want a baseline CBC and basic metabolic panel. I need a CT and MRI. There's definitely increased intracranial pressure. Somebody alert the OR in case we need to relieve that pressure." Prising open one delicate eyelid, he shone his penlight into the child's eye. "Can someone try and get hold of Doctor Leung?" He repeated the procedure with the other eye. "Dammit," he swore softly.

"Doctor?" It was the EMT – Sonia Antonio – who spoke. She had stayed in the Trauma Room long after she was needed.

"Retinal haemorrhaging," Jesse answered, tightly. "I want an ophthalmologist to take a look at him." He stepped back. The child was stable and, until he had the results of the scans, there was little more he could do. "Where did you find him?"

"At home," Sonia's gaze remained fixed on the child. "His father was with him… Oh God, Jesse… You didn't see his name."

"Huh?" The young doctor glanced at her in confusion. He'd looked at the chart but the name had barely registered.

"This little fella is Jordan Hunter," Sonia explained, taking a half-step closer. "And his father is Bailey Hunter."

"Bailey Hunter?" Jesse repeated, incredulously. "As in the same Bailey Hunter who's running for the Governor's Office?"

"The very same." Sonia's mouth thinned into a tight line. "The man whose campaign is based solely around crimes against children. The man who has pledged to get every paedophile and child abuser off the streets of LA."

"_And the man who's kid has just been brought in suffering all the symptoms of Shaken Baby Syndrome,"_ Jesse thought to himself, but knew better than to say those words aloud – at least until he had more than theory and conjecture.

DMDMDM

"Doctor Travis? Doctor O'Reilly is prepping the OR," a nurse reported to him.

"Thanks," he answered, but his anger at the situation kept his tone sharp. "Where the hell's Phil Leung?"

"He's with a patient," the same nurse answered. "I left messages."

"Alright, get on to x-ray." Jesse instructed her. "I want them to get hold of their best radiologist – the most experienced they've got – and I want a C-spine and a full long bone skeletal survey. I need them to look for any indication of previous trauma."

"Doctor?"

A film was handed to him and he held it up against the light-box and then hissed out a sigh. There was definitely cranial bleeding.

"We don't have time to waste. Let's get him upstairs."

A sudden commotion at the doors had all heads whipping around to stare in that direction.

"You can't go in there!"

"Like hell I can't." The man gave truth to his words by brushing past the nurse who'd tried to stop him. "Do you have any idea who that child is?"

"It doesn't matter who the child is." Jesse stepped forwards, capturing the man's full attention. "I'm more concerned about who you are."

"I am Maurice Silverman." The newcomer drew himself up to his full – and not inconsiderable – height. "_Doctor _Maurice Silverman and I am the personal physician to Bailey Hunter." He fixed Jesse with a condescending stare. "And his family."

"Doctor Silverman, I'm Doctor Travis." Jesse refused to be intimidated by the man's attitude. "I understand how concerned you must be, but…"

"The only thing you need to understand, Doctor." Silverman made the address sound like an insult. "Is that Jordan Hunter is my patient."

"Not in here he isn't." Jesse's temper began to rise – they were wasting precious time in arguing. "In here, he is a child who needs emergency medical care. His brain is bleeding. I have an OR prepped and ready and a neurosurgeon standing by." He smiled without humour. "I'm guessing that your role as 'family physician' doesn't extend to brain surgery."

Finally Silverman's eyes strayed away from Jesse's face and towards the tiny figure on the examination table.

"It's that bad?" he murmured.

"Yes, it is." Jesse took a calming breath – the man did seem genuinely upset and it might well have been shock that had caused his initial outburst. "And we really do need to operate as soon as possible."

Silverman nodded faintly and Jesse thought the entire incident would be forgotten. Then, as he directed the orderlies to wheel the bed out of the Trauma Room, the physician caught hold of his arm.

"Don't think you've won," he hissed. "I will be attending to Jordan's aftercare."

"I'm not trying to 'win' anything," the young doctor retorted, closing his eyes briefly. "I'm just trying to save a child's life."

"Are you going to be operating?" Silverman demanded, his belligerence returning with full force.

"No." Jesse didn't respond to the again angry tone. "I don't specialise in brain surgery."

"Then Bailey Hunter is anxious to speak to you."

"He's here?" Jesse didn't know why he was surprised. He was the child's father, after all. "You can tell him I'll be along very shortly."

DMDMDM

Bailey Hunter, up and coming politician and hot favourite to win the race for the Governor's Office, sat in a chair in Community General's waiting room with his elbows resting on his knees and looking like a broken man.

Another man sat next to him – his aide and spin doctor – Miles Finnegan. He was watching Hunter worriedly.

"So, have you thought about what you're going to say to the doctor yet?" he asked into the oppressive silence.

"What I'm going to say?" Hunter looked up at him with haunted eyes. "My boy stopped breathing. He almost died and he's not even a year old. Dammit, what the hell am I supposed to say?"

"There are going to be questions – difficult questions," Finnegan persisted. "When the media get hold of this…"

"Damn the media." It was the terrified father and not the ambitious politician who answered. "I don't care what they say. I just want to know that Jordan's going to be alright."

Finnegan nodded in apparent sympathy but before he could voice his next carefully formulated words, the door opened and Maurice Silverman walked in. Hunter was on his feet in an instant.

"Maurice?" He didn't need to say any more – his eyes asked the question for him.

"He's in the best of care, Bailey. I promise you." Silverman took hold of the supplicating hands that were held out to him. Now was not the time to mention his altercation with Jordan's attending physician – it would be of no help to anyone. "The doctor will be along to talk to you very shortly."

"Maurice, please," Bailey begged him. "What happened? What's wrong with my son?"

"You don't know what happened?" Silverman's hands fell back to his sides. "I thought you were with him."

"His nanny… She found him…" He shook his head at the horrific memory. "When I got there… Jordan was… He was struggling to breathe. I told her to call 911…"

"Did she say what had happened?" At the helpless look that Hunter aimed in his direction, he guided him back to his seat. "The doctor is going to want to know."

"I didn't… I didn't ask. I just wanted my boy to be alright." Hunter covered his face with his hands and began to cry softly.

It was an awkward moment and the other two men exchanged an uncomfortable glance over the bowed head. But before either of them could say anything, a soft knock at the door rescued them. A fraction of a second later it opened and another of the Hunter entourage entered.

Robert Stenson was Hunter's Press Secretary. He was young for the job but very good at it. His had been a strong voice in the, thus far, very successful campaign.

"Any news?" he asked, sinking into a vacant seat.

"We're waiting for the doctor." It was Finnegan who answered. The two of them worked closely together and had fast become friends.

"Has anyone managed to contact Mrs. Hunter?"

That got the distraught politician's attention and he raised his head. "I spoke to Celine…" His voice was hoarse from his tears. "She… she's on her way, but… God, what could I say to her?"

"I think I'll call her." Stenson's voice was, in contrast, firm and assured – it was a voice perfect for the press mikes. "She needs to come in the back way. The media are pretty much camped out the front."

"They're on to it already?" Finnegan put in, in disbelief.

"It was inevitable, I'm afraid." Stenson aimed his next words towards Silverman. "We're going to have to make some sort of a statement soon. Isn't there anything you can tell me?"

"Not until we have more details," Silverman replied. "I wouldn't want to speculate."

"But you must know something!" Hunter leapt to his feet, his frustration and fear getting the better of him. "You saw him, didn't you? God, what's taking so long? Where's the damned doctor?"

"I'll go and see what I can find out," the physician murmured in response.

DMDMDM

Jesse approached the waiting room and reached out for the door handle – just as that door was suddenly opened from the inside. Taking a startled step back, he found himself face to face with Maurice Silverman.

To his surprise, the physician didn't immediately get out of his way, but instead pulled the door closed behind him.

"How is Jordan?" Silverman didn't extend any pleasantries, but got straight down to business.

"I think I should speak to the father, first," Jesse replied calmly, successfully hiding his dislike of the man.

"I think it would be better coming from me," Silverman persisted, using his body to block the doorway. "I'm more than his physician. I'm his friend."

"And I'm his son's attending." Jesse refused to back down. "That makes it my responsibility. I can't speak to anyone about his child's welfare until I've spoken to him." He looked up at the other doctor earnestly. "Please."

Silverman sighed heavily and Jesse briefly wondered if he would be forced to call security in order to gain access to the waiting room. Then with great and obvious reluctance, the other man stepped to one side.

"He's very upset," he warned Jesse, in a low voice.

"I appreciate that." Jesse ignored the feeling that he was being patronised. He was a good doctor and he knew it – but he had a feeling that Silverman's attitude towards him had a lot to do with his relative youth. "I have done this sort of thing before."

DMDMDM

Silverman shadowed Jesse as he walked into the waiting room, but the young doctor easily ignored him. His eyes sought out Bailey Hunter – and found him immediately. He didn't even spare a glance to the other two men – both of whom, like Hunter, had got to their feet on his entrance.

"Mr Hunter, I'm Doctor Travis." He extended his hand and it was taken in a brief, but firm, handshake.

"Doctor… my son…" The words were strangled and hope warred against fear on his features.

"Mr Hunter, Jordan was very poorly when he arrived here." Jesse guided the stricken father back towards his chair and then sat down next to him. "There was some very bad swelling inside his skull and a CT scan confirmed that it was caused by intracranial bleeding."

"Dear God…"

"We've had to operate, to drain the blood and take away some of the pressure from his brain." It looked as though Hunter was about to throw up – or pass out, so Jesse hurried to offer what reassurances he could. "It's a very straightforward procedure and our best neurosurgeon is performing the operation."

"So he… he's going to be alright?"

"There are still some further tests that we need to run." Responding to the desperate hope in his voice, Jesse's tone was cautionary. "Jordan had also sustained four broken ribs. It doesn't appear as though they've done any serious internal damage, but that will need to be monitored. I'm also awaiting his x-rays. I want to be sure that there was no damage to his spine."

"My boy…" Hunter closed his eyes and ran a shaking hand over them. "My poor boy…" After taking a moment to compose himself, he opened his tear-filled eyes. "But he's… he will recover, won't he?"

"Mr Hunter, there is the danger that there could be some complications." Jesse hated the devastation that crossed the man's features as he absorbed those words, but he'd had no choice but to say them.

"What..?" The word emerged as a strangled whisper.

"There was some evidence of retinal haemorrhaging." At the blank look that he received, he elucidated: "Bleeding around his eyes. An ophthalmologist will look at him tomorrow and we'll have a more accurate diagnosis then. But that can lead to problems later in life – as can the bleeding to his brain."

"My God…" Hunter looked at him helplessly. "Can I… Can I see him?"

"He's still in surgery at the moment," Jesse answered, regretfully. "From there he'll be taken to recovery and then he'll spend tonight in the ICU – as a precaution. That's where you'll be able to visit him."

"I… I understand…" But his broken voice suggested that he did anything but.

"Mr Hunter, if you feel up to it, there are some questions that I have to ask you." Jesse kept his tone gentle, not relishing the task that lay ahead.

"Oh…" Hunter looked at him in confusion. "Um, yeah… Yeah, sure…"

"Mr Hunter, has Jordan ever been in hospital before? Has anything like this ever happened before?"

"No… no, never…" The distraught man was still in shock and his voice trembled as he spoke. "He, um… He's always been so healthy…"

"Can you tell me what happened to him?"

"No," Hunter whispered in response, even as fresh tears filled his eyes. "He was just lying there… He looked like a little doll…"

"Nothing happened?" Jesse persisted, not deliberately seeking to inflict further pain on the man, but needing some answers. "He wasn't crying or sick or anything?"

"Can't this wait?" Silverman strode authoritatively forwards. "Now is hardly the time…"

"No, it's alright, Maurice." Hunter held up an appeasing hand – which Jesse was immensely grateful for. He would have had a much harder time persuading the physician to let him continue. "I'd rather just get this over with."

"If you're sure, Bailey." Silverman backed away at his employer's tired nod.

"Doctor Travis, I've no idea what's wrong with my son. That's why we're here, isn't it?" There was no sarcasm in Hunter's voice, only desperation. "Can't you tell me what's wrong with him?"

"I'm sorry, I was just trying to get some history." Jesse glanced down at his hands, taking a moment to prepare himself for what he had to say. "Was there anybody else with your son when you found him?"

"Yes, his nanny." The confusion still hadn't faded from his eyes. "Sarah – why?"

Jesse sighed heavily and took the plunge: "Mr Hunter, Jordan's symptoms indicate that he was…"

"Bailey!" The door suddenly flew open and an elegantly dressed woman – her hair a mess and make-up streaked – charged into the room. "Bailey, my God what happened? Where's Jordan?"

Hunter got swiftly to his feet and enveloped the woman in a strong embrace as she clung desperately to him.

"Celine," he murmured. "Celine, I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened. He was fine…"

"Where is he?" Celine sobbed. "Where's my baby?"

"This is Doctor Travis." Hunter half turned towards where Jesse waited. "He was just explaining…"

The rest of his words were lost as his wife immediately turned her full attention to the young doctor.

"I need to see my baby." She was on the verge of collapse and only Hunter's strong hands on her shoulders kept her upright. "Please," she begged. "Please, let me see my baby."

Jesse was spared the unpleasant task of having to deny that desperate plea by the most unlikely rescuer: Maurice Silverman.

"It's alright, Celine," he said, smoothly stepping in front of Jesse and taking hold of her hands. "Jordan is being looked after, so you can't see him right now. The doctor will let you know just as soon as you can, okay?" He was talking to her as though she was a small child, but it was easy to see that there was nothing patronising about it. It was the only way that he could get through to her. And she obviously trusted Silverman, because she visibly relaxed at the sound of his voice.

"O… okay…" she stammered.

"Everything's going to be fine, Celine." Silverman eased her back into her husband's arms and, with a reassuring hand on the small of Hunter's back, guided them both towards the door. "You've both had a terrible shock – let's go and find someplace more comfortable to wait. Celine, I'm going to give you a little something to make you feel better. You too, Bailey." He glanced back towards Jesse, suddenly seeming to remember that he was still in the room. "I'm sure your questions can wait."

"Of course they can." Mrs Hunter's distress was still keen and he couldn't have voiced his suspicions in front of her. They would only make things a thousand times worse. "I'll let you know as soon as Jordan is settled."

Silverman didn't as much as nod in response, but Jesse easily ignored the snub. The man might not have had any respect – or even professional courtesy – for him, but he had just demonstrated that he genuinely did care about his patients.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Synopsis: A suspected case of child abuse becomes embroiled in political intrigue and Jesse's career winds up at stake.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM, I do own the ones that I created.

**Author's note: Sorry for the delay in updating – and thanks to everyone who is reading. Special thanks to Annie (hugs!), Ina B and Viola555 for the reviews. You are the reason I keep on writing.**

**I do need to point out that I never write Mary Sue characters. I hate them with a passion! So any apparent OC love interest in my stories is in there for a reason!**

**Thank you, Helen.**

Chapter Two

"Maurice, that's not a good idea." Stenson's voice stopped Silverman before he could get the distraught couple through the door. At his raised eyebrow, the press officer explained: "These corridors are crawling with reporters – and they're going to be looking for any sort of a reaction. You know what vultures they can be; they're hardly going to respect Bailey's or Celine's feelings."

"No." The physician stopped in his tracks. "No, I suppose you're right. But I do think that they could both use a little privacy right now." He retrieved his bag from where it had been sitting on the floor. "And a mild tranquiliser wouldn't do any harm either."

Having persuaded the Hunters to take a tablet, he indicated that the rest of them should leave the room. Jesse was the last one to exit. As soon as he closed the door behind him, Silverman whirled on him.

"What the hell were you doing in there?" he demanded, angrily.

"Doctor Silverman, you know that I was just doing my job." Jesse answered, levelly. Now was not the time to get into a yelling match. "I had to ask those questions."

"Look at them!" That the closed door hid the parents from view was beside the point. Their grief was still fresh in everyone's minds. "You can't possibly think that they had anything to do with what happened."

"I was trying to find out what happened," the younger doctor insisted. "I wasn't accusing anyone…"

"No, but you were about to!"

"Instead of screaming about this for the whole world to hear," Stenson said, stepping smoothly forwards. "Why doesn't someone tell me what's going on? I do still have a statement to make."

"You might want to put that on hold for a while," Silverman snarled, still glowering balefully at Jesse. "The symptoms that the _good doctor_ were describing in there are consistent with Shaken Baby Syndrome."

"What?" Stenson's shock was evident on his face.

"There will have to be an investigation." Jesse addressed the Press Officer, not wanting to risk starting another argument. "And there will be more questions. I don't have a choice in a case like this."

"Are you sure that's what happened?" Finnegan put in, frowning deeply. "Something like this could irrevocably damage Bailey's career."

"And a repeat of something like this could irrevocably damage that child's health – if it hasn't already," Jesse retorted. Just then his pager sounded and, after glancing at the display, returned his attention to the three men. "I have to go."

None of them spared him a word of farewell and they watched silently as he disappeared down the corridor.

"Maurice? Is it true?" Finnegan said, eventually.

"It's a possibility," Silverman reluctantly conceded. "Retinal haemorrhaging, intracranial bleeding, broken ribs… It doesn't look good."

"What makes it worse is that Bailey doesn't have any idea as to what happened," Stenson added. "How can he claim to be such a champion for kids' causes when this can happen in his own home?"

"You're going to have to be very careful what you say to the media," Finnegan warned him. "Don't let anything slip."

"But you can't just bury something like this." Stenson's eyes strayed down the corridor. "That doctor…"

"I'll think of something." Finnegan's voice was calm and assured. This is what he was paid to do – have Bailey Hunter come through a crisis smelling of roses. "In the meantime, we have to make some sort of a statement."

"And say what?" Though Finnegan had said 'we', that statement was solely the Press Officer's responsibility.

"Tell them that Jordan was brought in after taking ill at home," Silverman suggested. "The exact details of that illness are, as yet, unknown – but the doctors at Community General are doing everything they can."

"Right." Finnegan nodded his approval at the vague explanation. "Just wing it, Robert. That's what you're good at."

* * *

><p>"Doctor Travis! Jesse! Hey, wait up!"<p>

Jesse had been walking towards the doctors' lounge, seeking a much needed boost of caffeine, when the voice interrupted his train of thought. Turning, he smiled as he saw Sonia Antonio jogging towards him.

"Hi, Sonia," he greeted her. "I thought you'd have been back out by now."

"We've been back out, but we've just brought another casualty in." The EMT explained. "Jack's restocking, so I thought I'd come and see how Jordan Hunter's doing."

"He's in surgery," the young doctor told her, his face clouding over. "I've just spoken to the parents."

"How did it go?"

"Not good," Jesse sighed, remembering the difficult scene. "They're both in shock."

"I guess that's to be expected." Sonia smiled shyly at him. "So, what are you up to now?"

"Actually, Sonia, if you can spare a couple of minutes, I do need to ask you a couple of questions about Jordan. You were the first at the scene."

"Oh, right." Her smile faded as she remembered that scene. "Of course. Let me take a coffee out to Jack and, barring another emergency, I'll come and find you."

"Thanks." Jesse knew that his questions weren't going to be easy for her, but he was bound by strict protocols and his every action was aimed to ensure that no further harm would ever come to Jordan Hunter.

True to her word, Sonia found Jesse in the doctors' lounge less than ten minutes after their brief conversation. She answered his questions calmly and with professional detachment, not letting her emotions cloud her opinions. It was not the first time that she had been called upon to fulfil such an unpleasant duty.

Jesse listened to her attentively, making diligent notes, as she described how they had arrived at the Hunter household to find Jordan lying limp and unresponsive in his crib. The nanny had been almost hysterical and Bailey Hunter hadn't been faring much better.

Sonia then went on to explain how Jordan, who had been experiencing severe respiratory distress, had stopped breathing completely and that she and Jack had performed CPR, before rushing him to Community General.

After that, Jesse had no more questions and he politely thanked Sonia for her time – but the young woman didn't appear to be in any hurry to leave.

"Do you, um… Do you want coffee?" Jesse asked, enjoying her company no matter what the circumstances.

"I really should be getting back out," Sonia answered regretfully, but she made no move to put her words into action.

"Um…" Jesse paused, feeling suddenly nervous. He was attracted to Sonia and had wanted to ask her out, but had never been able to pluck up the courage. Now seemed to be the perfect opportunity. The young woman had always been friendly with him and had even flirted mildly on occasion – providing he was reading the signs right, of course. There was only one way to find out. "Look… Sonia…" He really wasn't very good at this and he forced himself to press on before he lost his nerve. "I, uh… I finish at six tonight…" He risked a glance at her face and saw her smiling back at him. "And I know this great little barbeque place…"

"Oh, Jesse. I'm working until midnight."

"Oh." Haunted by habitual insecurities, Jesse took her words as a brush off. At least she had let him down gently but he still felt embarrassment, at having misinterpreted the situation so badly, colour his cheeks. "Um, okay then…"

"But I do have the night off on Friday," she offered. "If you're not busy, that is."

"No, hey!" Delight lit up the young doctor's features. "Friday's great."

* * *

><p>Jesse sat in the doctors' lounge, the grin that had been plastered to his face from the moment that Sonia had agreed to go out with him had faded as he contemplated the piece of paper in front of him. He was still working on his report regarding Jordan Hunter.<p>

Though he felt desperately sorry for the parents, this was not a task that he could ignore. His first instinct – that Jordan had been violently shaken – had left him with no choice.

He still had to await the results of further tests and he needed to consult with both the neurosurgeon and the ophthalmologist, as well as taking Sonia's account on board, so he wasn't about to jump to any conclusions. But if they could do nothing to refute his suspicions then he would have no choice but to refer the case to the state child protective service agency – no matter who the parents were. The law demanded it of him.

A soft knock at the door caused Jesse to raise his head and he was surprised to see one of the other men who'd been in the waiting room with Hunter standing there.

"It's Doctor Travis, isn't it?" the man asked, entering the room. "I wonder if you might spare a moment."

"Um, sure." Jesse got to his feet, taking a moment to turn his report over so that it lay face down on the table.

"I'm Miles Finnegan." The newcomer extended his hand. "I'm Bailey Hunter's chief aide and PR agent – and I'm his friend."

"Right." Jesse wasn't ready for another confrontation, but he shook the proffered hand. "What can I do for you, Mr. Finnegan?"

"It's Miles, please." Finnegan leant against one of the hard-backed chairs and regarded the young doctor earnestly. "And I wanted to say that I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Jesse was understandably confused.

"I didn't mean to imply that Bailey's career was more important than Jordan's welfare." The aide looked contrite. "I would never think such a thing. I was just shocked by what I heard."

"That's understandable." Jesse offered him a sympathetic smile. "There was no need to apologise."

"Maybe." Finnegan sighed heavily. "But I wanted to know what's going to happen next." His eyes drifted towards the report on the table. "Bailey is really devastated and I thought that if I knew what was going on, then I'd be able to help him." His gaze returned to lock with the doctor's. "You said something about an investigation?"

"Mr. Finnegan, I appreciate what you're trying to do." Jesse ignored the man's offer to address him by his given name – he wanted to keep a professional distance. "But I do have an obligation of confidentiality. The Hunters will be kept fully informed as to what's happening and if they choose to inform you, then that's their decision. But I can't."

"But if I could just explain to Bailey; help him understand what's happening…"

"I'm sorry." Jesse was not about to be swayed. "But I am bound by my oath and by the law. I can't tell you anything."

Finnegan took a deep breath and Jesse momentarily feared another onslaught. Then he released that breath and nodded slowly.

"I understand, Doctor," he said, though his eyes once again fell to the report – making Jesse immensely glad that he'd shielded its contents from view. "Thank you for your time."

* * *

><p>The tranquiliser had done little to calm Celine down and eventually, Silverman had been left with no choice but to administer something stronger. She had grown more and more hysterical as each minute passed and the strength of her worry had made her physically sick.<p>

So, with the help of a sympathetic nurse and some very careful timing, they had managed to get the woman into a private room and into bed. Her husband was at her side.

When Stenson returned from the press conference he found only Silverman and Finnegan in the waiting room.

"That wasn't easy," he said, relieved to be able to speak freely and not worry about upsetting either Bailey or Celine. "You know those reporters. They weren't overly happy with my explanation. I don't think I've ever had to field so many questions."

"But you pulled it off?" Finnegan demanded.

"Only temporarily." Stenson admitted. "That's not going to hold them for long and I need to have more for them in the next few hours – otherwise you know they'll just write whatever the hell they want."

"Think Maurice," Finnegan said as he began to pace, not liking the situation one little bit. "Is there anything – anything at all – that this could be explained away as? Couldn't we say he had a seizure or something?"

"We can say whatever we like," Silverman answered, his own frustration lending sarcasm to his tone. "And they might even believe it, but it's not going to make a damned bit of difference once Doctor Travis makes his report."

"Do you mean that I just went out there and lied through my teeth for no reason?" Stenson flared, his own worry coming to the fore.

"No." Finnegan's was the calm voice of reason. "No. If nothing else you've at least bought us some time."

"To do what? There's no way that we're going to be able to bury this."

"Maybe not, but I'm sure that there's something we can do." He turned back to Silverman. "Do you think we'll be able to 'persuade' Travis not to make a report?"

"Bribe him?" Silverman shook his head. "Not a chance – and don't even try. I asked around and Travis is a protégé of Mark Sloan. Apparently they share all the same traits, not least of which is honesty. You try to buy him and he's bound to report it. And that will make things about a thousand times worse."

"What's going to happen when the opposition get hold of this?" Stenson put in dourly. "Bailey will be ruined."

"You might have something there," Finnegan said slowly, his pacing stopping abruptly. At the incredulous looks that the other two aimed at him, he continued: "At least we know that it's going to happen. They're not going to blindside us with this. And, if we know that it's going to happen, we can be prepared."

"How can you prepare for an accusation of child abuse?" Silverman snapped. "Because that's what it is. That's what any charges will be."

"Are you sure that there is no possible alternative?" Finnegan asked, the calculating look in his eyes telling his colleagues that he was onto something. "Those symptoms seem very vague to me."

"Individually, they are vague." The doctor shook his head. "Individually, they could all be caused by something else. But when you put them all together…"

"Wait a minute," Finnegan interrupted. "You're saying that the bleeding in his brain and in his eyes – that might have been caused by something else?"

"No." Silverman was quick to correct him. "If he'd had only one of those things then yes, but Travis has reached an inevitable conclusion – one that any doctor would have reached. Hell, even I would have said that Jordan had been deliberately and violently shaken."

"Because of a combination of symptoms all of which may have been caused by something other than that."

"You're not listening to me," Silverman sighed. "That defence is never going to work. Any competent physician would see this as a clear cut case of Shaken Baby Syndrome."

"But what about a physician who stands to gain from maybe exaggerating his report somewhat?" Finnegan asked, slyly.

"What?" Silverman had lost the thread completely and Stenson was almost totally at sea as to where the conversation was going.

"What if we don't wait for the opposition to hit us with this? What if we take away their ammunition?"

* * *

><p>Six o'clock found Jesse back in the doctors' lounge enjoying one final cup of coffee before he headed off home. Jordan was safely ensconced in the ICU and his parents had both seen him. They were, again, resting in a private room – away from the prying eyes of the media and safe from their incessant questions. At least for now. Life was about to get very difficult for both of them; a fact which Jesse regretted immensely, but could do little about.<p>

His report to the state agency was still unfinished, but that was simply because Phil Leung had yet to perform a thorough eye examination and his opinion would be vital. He had already spoken to Margie O'Reilly and her views had done nothing to change his evaluation, but he was not about to submit a report without covering all of the angles. He also wanted to finish his conversation with Bailey Hunter – preferably alone and in private.

He wondered if he should have Steve talk to the nanny – see if she could add anything helpful – or if he should leave that to whoever conducted the follow-up investigation. After only a brief internal debate, he decided not to involve his best friend. Steve had enough on his plate as it was and, no matter how busy he was, he wouldn't be able to turn Jesse down if he asked for help. And so he reached the conclusion that it wouldn't be fair to ask.

Besides, at the end of the day, it was not up to him to find out who had shaken Jordan Hunter – or why. His only responsibility was to ascertain whether or not the child had been abused.

The x-rays had been of little help. Aside from his broken ribs, Jordan had no old or healing wounds – and the radiologist had been commendably thorough. Likewise, there were no bruises on Jordan's body aside from the fresh ones that had been inflicted that day. His brief medical history also showed that he had never before been admitted to hospital. But Jesse knew better than to read too much into those facts.

There had to be a first time in every single case of child abuse.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Synopsis: A suspected case of child abuse becomes embroiled in political intrigue and Jesse's career winds up at stake.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM, I do own the ones that I created.

Chapter Three

"What are you still doing here, Jesse?" Mark was genuinely surprised to see his young colleague in the doctors' lounge when he arrived at work that evening. "I thought your shift finished at six."

"It did." Mark's voice had startled Jesse and he smiled sheepishly as he glanced up at the clock. He'd been sitting there, lost in thought, for more than an hour. "I guess I lost track of the time."

"Jordan Hunter?" Mark assumed.

"Yeah." The younger man answered on a sigh. He didn't even ask Mark how he knew. Though Community General was a big hospital, its grapevine was formidable indeed. "It's the parents, you know?" His face creased into a scowl. "I'm sure that they had nothing to do with what happened – and yet I have to put them through this whole investigation. And, because of who they are, there's going to be a complete media circus. It just doesn't seem fair."

"No, it doesn't," Mark replied. "But what really isn't fair is what somebody did to that little boy. It doesn't matter who you think might be responsible – surely the parents have to carry some of that onus. Where were they when somebody was hurting their son?"

"I guess…" Jesse conceded to the irrefutable logic. "But it would be so much easier if I could just find out who it was – and then they could be punished without having to put the parents through all of this."

"Yes, it would," Mark smiled – that sentiment had come as no great surprise. "But your obligation has to be to that child. There are protocols in place, Jesse – and they're in place for a reason. You don't have a lot of choice in this matter."

"I know." Jesse offered him a half-smile. "And my report's almost done. I'll finish it tomorrow, just as soon as Phil Leung gets back to me."

"And then it will be out of your hands."

* * *

><p>"I still don't see what you can possibly hope to achieve by doing this," Silverman said after Finnegan had finished outlining the details of his plan.<p>

"That's because you're the wrong type of doctor, Maurice," the aide smirked in response.

"It's all about 'spin'." Stenson explained. "Though I must admit, I can't figure out if this is the most brilliant thing I've ever heard – or the most stupid."

"Whichever it is, it's still going to hurt Bailey and Celine," Silverman retorted, acidly.

"In the short term, yes." The grin abruptly faded from Finnegan's face. "But in the long term, this is going to save Bailey's career. When he's sitting in the Governor's mansion, I think he'll understand."

"Are you going to tell him?" the doctor wondered, still not at all comfortable with what he had heard. He wasn't a politician and knew little about spin.

"No." It was Stenson who answered – and quite categorically. "Plausible deniability doesn't just belong in the Oval Office, you know."

"Plausible deniability?"

"When Bailey reacts, he's got to believe one hundred percent in what he's saying," the press officer enlightened him. "He can't know that we have anything to do with this – or it will colour his reactions."

"And that's what's going to make it so hard," Finnegan put in. "Yes, he is going to be hurt – and so is Celine – and we can't even tell him that, eventually, only good will come out of it. We're just going to have to help him ride the storm."

* * *

><p>Jesse knocked gently on the door to room 305 before opening it. Having seen their son; that was where the Hunters were residing. It can't have been up to the standard they were used to – it was just an ordinary private hospital room – but it did mean that they wouldn't have to run the gauntlet of trying to get past the hoards of reporters outside. And, of course, it meant they were close to Jordan.<p>

Though it was now close to two hours since his shift had ended, Jesse had wanted to speak to Bailey again before he went home. Margie O'Reilly had explained the procedures she had performed, but it was up to him – as the attending physician – to explain why those procedures had been necessary. He was also seeking some further answers in order to help with his report.

Much to his relief, Celine appeared to be sleeping. She too would eventually have to be told what had really happened to Jordan, but it might be easier – and gentler – coming from her husband.

"Mr Hunter, I wondered if I could talk to you," he said, keeping his voice low in deference to the woman on the bed.

"Oh…" The politician's eyes had been glazed and distant and they looked at Jesse through a cloud of confusion. "Doctor..?" He trailed off helplessly.

"Travis. We talked before."

"Oh yes, of course." Some modicum of composure returned and sudden fear replaced the confusion. "Is it Jordan? Is he..?"

"He's comfortable," the young doctor hurried to assure him – and he knew this to be true, having looked in on the child before going to speak to his father. "Did Doctor O'Reilly explain that the surgery went well?"

"Yes, but…" Hunter blinked away his tears. "She said… she said there may be complications… I don't understand. He's seven months old…"

"Mr Hunter." Jesse glanced towards Celine as the man's distress increased. "Would you prefer it if we talked outside?"

"No," Hunter sighed, following the other man's gaze and then swallowing hard. "I don't know what Maurice gave her, but she's barely stirred… But if she does wake up…" He shrugged, helplessly. "I just need to be here."

Jesse nodded his understanding and pulled up a vacant chair: "What Doctor O'Reilly meant was that there are no absolutes in medicine – no guarantees. Jordan suffered a severe head trauma and, in such cases, there is always the danger of complications." Jesse paused and glanced down at his hands. "Mr Hunter, there's no easy way for me to tell you this, but every indication is that Jordan's condition is due to him being violently shaken by someone."

"What?" The politician looked at him in disbelief. "Shaken? I don't… How..?"

"That's what I need to find out." Jesse's tone held no accusation, only sympathy and understanding. "There are some questions I need to ask."

"Oh… Of course…" Hunter's look again turned helpless. "But I… I wasn't there. I don't know what I can tell you."

"You said that the nanny – Sarah – was with Jordan when you found him." Jesse began, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible and offer the man some peace. "Did she say anything? Did she tell you what happened?"

"I heard her scream." Hunter's voice was distant – haunted. "And I ran and she was there, screaming and crying and… I… Oh God…"

"Mr Hunter?" It was Jesse's turn to be confused as horror suffused the other man's features.

"The baby monitor…" He glanced at Jesse then looked quickly away. "There's one in my office… There's one in almost every damned room. But I… I turned it off…"

Insurmountable guilt caused his head to bow. "I was working and I could hear Sarah. She'd just put Jordan in his crib and she was singing to him. I could hear her and she was distracting me and…" He looked up at Jesse almost pleadingly. "I knew that she was with him; he should have been safe. But I turned the monitor off… God help me… I turned it off."

"That's not a crime, sir." Jesse quickly sought to calm the man. "The nanny was with Jordan, you knew he wasn't alone. You can't have anticipated that something like this would happen."

"But why?" Hunter was not about to let himself off the hook so easily. "Why did I choose that one time to turn the damned thing off? You said somebody deliberately did that to my boy…"

"I'm not saying that somebody deliberately set out to harm your baby," Jesse corrected him, softly. "I'm sure whoever it was didn't mean for this to happen. But if Jordan was crying and maybe wouldn't stop – it can really get to a person – and maybe they picked him up to try and calm him."

"And when it didn't work, they shook him until he did stop crying," Hunter concluded, dully.

"It's a possibility." The young doctor leaned forwards in his chair. "Mr Hunter, can you tell me who else was in the house? Besides you and Sarah and, I presume, Mrs Hunter."

"No, Celine went out." Hunter's eyes again strayed to his wife's slumbering form. "I'm not sure where but she… She wasn't there when… when we found Jordan."

"Who else was there?"

"I'm not sure." The man offered an apologetic shrug. "I'd been stuck in my office for hours. I'm sorry, I really couldn't tell you."

* * *

><p>There was nothing more that Hunter could tell him, so Jesse finally exchanged his white coat for his jacket and headed towards the exit. Unfortunately for him, it wasn't only Jordan's parents that the press pack outside were waiting to see. Having been left waiting for so long and having received so little information, they were almost desperate for anything that might constitute a story.<p>

Seeing Jesse heading towards a parking bay reserved for doctors was too good an opportunity to pass up.

"Doctor, can you give us an update on Jordan Hunter's condition?" A voice called out from the throng.

Jesse ignored it and kept his head low as he unlocked his car.

"Can you confirm that he has been admitted? How long will you be keeping him in for?"

"Are his parents with him?"

"Has there been any reaction from Bailey Hunter? Does he plan to make a statement?"

"Is Jordan sick, or was he injured in some way? What's the prognosis?"

Jesse silenced the incessant voices by getting into his car and slamming the door shut. The reporters – realising that they weren't going to get any answers – wandered away in disgruntlement.

By the time Jesse made it home, he was exhausted. It had been a trying day and he knew that things were bound to get a whole lot worse before they got better. It would be his report that the newspapers would eventually get their story from; his opinion that the authorities would act upon; his words that would make life – which was already difficult – border on impossible for the Hunters.

And though in his heart he knew what he had to do – and that it was the right thing – it didn't mean that he had to like it.

* * *

><p>Jesse never had a morning paper delivered. He dealt with enough pain and suffering in his own life, without having to wake up to it every day. He didn't even put the news on as he went through his routine the next morning and, thus, he was completely unprepared when he arrived at the hospital for his shift to scenes of even greater chaos than he'd left the night before.<p>

The press were, again, out in numbers – but this time they swarmed around his car with much more purpose, surrounding him almost as soon as he'd drawn to a stop.

Security were on hand, but their presence proved totally ineffective and Jesse had to force his way through the throng and towards the entrance – the questions that sounded in his ears coming with much more urgency than had previously been the case.

"Is it true that Jordan Hunter was abused in his own home?"

"Will Bailey Hunter be facing child abuse charges?"

"Have the police been involved?"

Jesse ignored them as best he could – wondering to himself how the news could have broken so quickly. His report hadn't even been finished, much less submitted to the proper authorities and he knew for a fact that he hadn't left it lying around for anyone to see. But somehow the newspapers had picked up on what happened.

The young doctor cursed inwardly as he made it through the doors and to the relative safety of the front desk. He had hoped to afford Bailey and Celine a little more time but it seemed as though that was no longer an option.

"My God, it's chaos out there. What happened?" he asked of nobody in particular.

"Like you don't know," a low voice growled in response. Turning, Jesse found himself face to face with Miles Finnegan. Gone was the friendly 'call me Miles' persona of the previous day. Now the man looked furious.

"Mr Finnegan…" Jesse hesitated, taking an unconscious step backwards in the face of the man's open hostility.

"Why the hell did you do it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Jesse glanced back towards the doors, relieved to see that security had regained control and were successfully keeping the reporters at bay.

"You're one sorry son-of-a-bitch." Finnegan's voice dripped venom. "What the hell has he ever done to you? Just don't think for one minute that I'm going to let you get away with it."

"Mr Finnegan!" Mark's voice calling from down the corridor interrupted the confrontation which was on the verge of turning ugly. The older doctor was a little breathless when he reached them. "I asked you to let me handle this."

"Handle what?" Jesse's gaze switched rapidly between the two men. "Mark…"

"It's a little late to start trying to deal with this internally, isn't it, doctor?" Finnegan interrupted, sharply. "I want to know what you intend to do about it."

"Do about what?" Jesse's confusion was still only too apparent on his expressive features. "What's going on?"

"Jess, can I talk to you in my office?" Mark addressed his young colleague. "Please."

"But Mark, I don't even know what I'm supposed to have done wrong."

"Please, Jesse, let's do this in private." He placed one hand on the small of Jesse's back and used it to propel him gently down the corridor. He wasn't overly surprised – and nor did he protest – when Miles Finnegan followed them.

* * *

><p>Mark shut the door to his office once the three of them had entered and took a moment to retrieve something from his desk before speaking again: "Jesse, have you seen this?"<p>

The younger man frowned as he took the newspaper that was proffered to him. It wasn't a cheap, sleazy tabloid – which was what he had been expecting at first glance; he knew only too well what they were capable of – but one of the more upmarket broadsheets. The headline leapt off the page at him – 'Hypocrite' it read in big, bold letters – as did the picture of Bailey Hunter. Silently he read the leader:

_Bailey Hunter was last night branded a hypocrite when his seven month old son, Jordan, was admitted to Community General Hospital amid speculations of child abuse. The eminent politician – the hot favourite to win the race for the Governor's Office – has based his campaign solely on the slogan: 'I'm doing it for the kids.'_

_Now questions must be asked of his integrity after a source at CGH confirmed that Jordan Hunter was suffering from Shaken Baby Syndrome. The doctor at the centre of the case – who wishes to remain anonymous – told this reporter…_

"I don't… I don't get it, Mark…" Jesse looked up from the page, his eyes wide with confusion. "I didn't talk to anyone…"

"_The doctor at the centre of the case_." Finnegan spoke the words sombrely, as though they were beyond doubt.

"That's hardly damning evidence," Mark was quick to point out. Then he focussed on his friend. "But you really should read on, Jesse."

"I don't think I want to." Jesse folded the paper up and laid it to one side. "I didn't do that."

"There are things in the report that had to come from you," Finnegan snapped. "They know everything – every last detail – you wanna tell me where else they might have got it from?"

"I don't know," the young doctor answered tightly. The shock had left him reeling, but now he understood why he had been so besieged by reporters on his arrival at the hospital.

"By my understanding, it wasn't even your call to make." The aide continued, relentlessly. "Aren't you supposed to report an incident like this, so that it can be properly investigated before you go off making wild accusations?"

"I didn't…"

"Do you even have any proof? Do you have anything other than your own ugly suspicions?"

"Mr Finnegan, please." Mark chose that moment to intervene, before things could get any more out of hand. "This isn't achieving anything." He turned back to his protégé. "Jesse, you're telling me that you don't know anything about this. You didn't talk to anyone after you left here last night?"

"No!" The reply was so emphatic that it had to be true.

"I'm sorry, Jess, but I had to ask."

"I know. I… I understand." Jesse spoke the words quietly, but his eyes betrayed the hurt those questions had inflicted on him.

"And that's what you call looking into this? That's what you call handling it? Well, don't think you or this hospital has got off the hook so easily." Finnegan folded his arms across his chest and levelled a cold look at the two doctors. "Bailey's lawyers have been informed and I'm sure that they'll be in touch."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Synopsis: A suspected case of child abuse becomes embroiled in political intrigue and Jesse's career winds up at stake.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM, I do own the ones that I created.

Chapter Four

After Finnegan had left them alone, Jesse drifted over to where the newspaper lay. Picking it up, he again read its damning headline. He looked back up at his colleague.

"I swear to you, Mark," he said, fervently. "I don't know anything about this."

"I didn't for a moment believe that you did," Mark answered with a reassuring smile. "But you understand why I had to ask those questions."

"Sure."

The slight shrug and half smile that Jesse offered in response were far from convincing and Mark steeled himself for what he had to say next: "Then I hope you can understand why it wouldn't be… prudent for you to continue with the treatment of Jordan Hunter."

The reaction he got was exactly the one he had been dreading. Blue eyes filled with raw hurt rose to meet his and the sense of betrayal was all too evident on the boyish face.

"I'm sorry, Jesse." It was all Mark could think of to say – even though he knew how hopelessly inadequate it was.

Jesse swallowed hard, knowing that Mark had been left with little choice other than make that decision. He managed a tremulous smile; "So, what's gonna happen now?"

"There will be an investigation," the older man answered. "And don't worry, we will get to the bottom of this. Someone leaked that story to the newspapers – and they made it seem as though that someone was you. All we have to do is figure out why. Who would want to ruin Bailey Hunter?"

"His rivals, I guess." Now that he had the mystery to focus on, Jesse was able to successfully push his own feelings to one side. "I don't pay a lot of attention to politics, but I heard that he's way out in front in the polls."

"He was at that," Mark mused. "And that would certainly give somebody a strong motive to try and discredit him. But we also have to ask ourselves where whoever it was got their information. That article is very thorough."

"Somebody from the hospital had to be involved."

"Not just somebody from the hospital. Somebody who was close to Jordan Hunter; someone who knew exactly what he was being treated for."

"Mark…" Jesse's tone was suddenly hesitant. "Who's, um… Who's taking care of Jordan now? I mean, if someone wants to get at Bailey Hunter…" He trailed off, the implications obvious.

"I personally looked in on him this morning." Mark wasn't at all surprised by the abrupt change of subject. It was so typical of his friend to put the interests of others before his own. The least he could do was take that worry away from him. "He had a comfortable night and there don't appear to be any complications from the surgery. I don't think that there's any physical threat to Jordan, but I will increase security – as a precaution."

"Thanks."

A soft knock at the door interrupted them and preceded Steve Sloan's entry into the room. The very fact that he made no mention of the reporters – who he was bound to have had to fight his way through – told the two doctors that he knew at least a little of what was going on.

"So Steve, is this an official visit?" Mark asked after the three of them had exchanged greetings.

"Not exactly." The younger Sloan perched on the edge of the desk, his gaze directed towards Jesse. "I've heard some pretty spectacular rumours this morning. I wanted to find out what was going on."

"We were just discussing that," Mark answered, with a wry smile. "Somebody leaked Jordan Hunter's story to the press and tried to make it look as though it was Jesse. We were just trying to figure out who – and why."

"Well, the 'why' is pretty obvious." Steve's eyes fell to the newspaper headline and lingered there for a moment. "They've done a pretty thorough job of sabotaging Hunter's entire campaign."

"I still don't understand why it had to be sabotaged." Jesse spoke up at last and then realised just how ambiguous his statement may have seemed – and hurried to clarify it. "I mean, it's not like this would have been kept a secret or covered up or anything. I was going to make my report. Jordan Hunter's injuries were deliberately inflicted – I'm certain of it – and that would never have been kept quiet. There would have been a full investigation and the papers would have been all over it anyway."

"And would that have happened before the election next week?" Steve wondered.

"Sure," the young man answered. "My report was going to go in today. The news would have broken by the weekend at the very latest."

"You know, you do have a point there." Mark was frowning, thoughtfully. "Hunter's career was headed for rocky ground the moment that Jordan's injuries were identified. And the timing would have been even more damaging if this had been allowed to run its course. The news would have broken over the weekend – with just days to go before the polls open – and would have left very little time for damage limitation."

"Putting it that way, it doesn't make a lot of sense," his son agreed. "But what other motive could there be?"

"Maybe we're looking at this from the wrong angle," Mark mused, stroking his moustache in a familiar gesture of contemplation. "Maybe Bailey Hunter wasn't the target here. Maybe it was Jesse."

The young man in question stared at his mentor utterly dumbfounded.

"Jesse? Why Jesse?" Steve asked when it became obvious that his friend was not about to do so.

"Think about it. On the surface, this seems like a straightforward attempt to stop Hunter from winning the election next week," Mark explained. "But whoever has leaked this has gone to great lengths not only to sabotage Hunter – but they've also done a pretty good hatchet job on Jesse, too."

"But… It doesn't even mention my name…" The young doctor found his voice at last. "And nobody can prove that it was me…" He trailed off, realising just how that sounded. "I mean, it wasn't me, but if it was then nobody would be able to prove it…" His voice died again at the mildly amused looks that were aimed in his direction. He knew that he'd been babbling again, but he couldn't help it. It was a nervous reaction – and Mark was making him very nervous.

"No, it doesn't mention you by name." Mark was instantly serious again. "But it does severely limit the possibilities as to who could have leaked the story. The hospital will investigate – and the first person they're going to be looking at is 'the doctor at the centre of the case'. That's you, my friend."

"Would someone mind telling me what Jesse's supposed to have done that's so wrong?" Steve asked, reacting to the abject misery that was so apparent on his friend's face. "Even if it was him who went to the papers – and I know it wasn't – there is still such a thing as freedom of speech in this country."

"Yes there is." Mark's tone had lost none of its gravity. "There's also a thing called doctor/patient confidentiality. That's what's going to be the prime concern of the investigatory body. That and the oath that we all, as doctors, have sworn."

"What I may see or hear in the course of the treatment or even outside of the treatment in regard to the life of men, which on no account one must spread abroad, I will keep to myself, holding such things shameful to be spoken about."

Jesse's head snapped up at the sound of the voice from the doorway. Maurice Silverman was standing there, glowering at him as though he was something nasty he'd stepped in.

"Of course, you're very young." Silverman entered the room without being invited. "Maybe this sounds more familiar: I will respect the privacy of my patients, for their problems are not disclosed to me that the world may know."

"Doctor Silverman, that was totally uncalled for." There was quiet fury in Mark's voice. He had instantly recognised the quotations from both the classical and the modern versions of the Hippocratic Oath – and so had Jesse, judging on the way that his gaze was now fixed firmly on the floor between his feet. "There really was no need…"

"There was every need," Silverman snapped back. "I've just left Bailey and Celine and they are devastated. Do you have any idea what this has done to them?"

"Doctor Silverman…" Mark tried to interrupt, but it was futile.

"It was bad enough when this laughable excuse for a doctor accused Bailey – to his face – of abusing his son," the irate doctor steamrollered on. "But to go public with those accusations? What kind of a hospital are you running here, Sloan?"

"Alright, that's enough." Steve swiftly rose from where he had been slouched against the desk and folded his arms across his chest. "I'm not gonna stand here and listen to you insult my friend or my father." He glared at the interloper. "Are you gonna leave quietly, or am I gonna have to get my hands dirty?"

"You wouldn't dare…" Silverman challenged.

Steve's mouth lifted into a humourless smile: "You've just made my day." He took one step forwards and that was all that it took. Silverman's arrogance and bluster deserted him and he practically ran from the room.

* * *

><p>"Are you okay, Jess?" Steve asked, after he had closed the office door. The young doctor was still sitting staring at the floor.<p>

"Yeah." The sighed response was far from convincing, but he did raise his head and attempt a smile. "Just a little… shocked I guess."

"Yes, it certainly has been a shock, alright." Mark's voice was filled with sympathy and the look that he gave his colleague was one of genuine concern. "But don't worry. I'm not going to let you take the blame for this."

"You know, I keep thinking…" Jesse barely acknowledged his mentor's words. "I keep going through everything that happened yesterday. Everything I did, everything I said…" He shook his head. "I keep wondering if maybe I said the wrong thing in front of the wrong person… I don't know…"

"Don't, Jesse," Mark interrupted him, softly. "That isn't going to help."

"Dad's right, Jess," Steve put in. "You must have been in contact with a hell of a lot of people yesterday. And there's no way you could know what any of them might have overheard."

"And you have to remember that it can't just have been some throwaway remark," the older Sloan continued. "Whoever leaked this story knew what they were talking about. That article was very detailed."

"Do you think it might be worth me talking to the reporter that wrote it?" his son wondered aloud.

"I don't know, Steve." Mark's response quickly killed the flare of hope that had surged in Jesse at the suggestion. "I doubt very much that he'd be willing to reveal his sources and it's not a police investigation so there's little you could do if he refused to talk to you."

"I guess." Steve's disappointment in his father's wise words was apparent in his tone.

"Mark?" Jesse spoke up almost hesitantly. He knew that they were discussing ways in which to help him, but there was something he just had to ask. "What… what do you think will happen to me?"

"Don't you worry, Jess." Mark responded to the obvious fear in the young man's voice. "There will be an investigation – there's no doubt about that. But you're innocent, we all know that – and it's going to be up to them to prove otherwise."

* * *

><p>Later that day, Jesse sat alone in the hospital's morgue. It was one of the few places in CGH that he could find some solitude and an escape from the constant stares and speculation.<p>

It seemed as though everybody in the building knew of the accusation against him and it had very quickly worn him down. His own active, curious mind didn't help matters either.

Somebody had set him up and done a pretty good job of it. He agonised over whom that someone might be. The options were severely limited. There had been nurses in the trauma room – and Sonia Antonio, the EMT – then, once Jordan had been taken to the OR, there was Margie O'Reilly and her team. Then there was the radiologist and anyone else who might have been in x-ray.

But though all of them knew some of the details, none of them knew everything. And the only time that he had spoken his suspicions aloud had been in front of Bailey Hunter and his staff – and, of course, Mark.

On his way to the morgue, he had taken the time to retrieve his half-written report. He had left it securely stored in his locker overnight, knowing just how sensitive the information it contained was. There had been no indication that anyone had tampered with either his locker or the report – it had been exactly where he had left it. But even had that not been the case, the report didn't hold all of the answers – there was still Phil Leung's opinion to include and the summary of his own conclusions.

No, even if someone had found the report, they still wouldn't have had the amount of detail that had been leaked to the press. It just didn't make sense. Jesse knew that he hadn't done what he'd been accused of. The trouble was that there was nobody else it could possibly have been.

If it hadn't been for Mark's assurances – and the comforting knowledge that his mentor would be there fighting his corner – then Jesse would have been a whole lot more scared for his future than he currently was.

* * *

><p>"Jesse, there you are! Mark's been looking all over for you. He's been paging you for the past ten minutes."<p>

Jesse glanced up and saw Amanda Bentley standing in the doorway, hands on hips and looking at him with exasperation.

"What are you doing hiding in here?" she asked.

"You mean you haven't heard?" Jesse found that hard to believe – there was no way the hospital grapevine hadn't picked up on this one.

"I heard some very unkind rumours that can't possibly be true," the pathologist retorted. "So I didn't pay any attention to them – and neither should you."

"They're not just rumours, though, are they?" he asked her, with a hint of bleakness in his tone. "I mean, somebody went to the press and…"

"And Mark will find out who it was," Amanda interrupted, confidently. "He's always come through for us in the past – what makes you think that it will be any different this time?"

Jesse smiled, cheered by her words and then he remembered her reason for being there. "Did Mark say why he wanted to see me?"

"No, he didn't, honey."

"I guess it must be important, though," the young man mused. "He was working all night, you know. He really should have gone home by now."

Amanda anticipated the guilt a moment before it flashed across Jesse features. She swiftly crossed to where he sat. "Oh no you don't," she admonished him, taking hold of his arm and hauling him to his feet. "This is in no way whatsoever your fault. Somebody's set you up, Jesse and Mark's just doing what he always does: helping out a friend. He'd do the same for me and you know it. So let's just go and see what he wants and we can have this whole thing cleared up in no time."

She used her grip on his arm to propel him across the morgue even as she spoke, so Jesse had no choice but to go along with her.

* * *

><p>There was a man waiting with Mark in his office; a man wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase. Jesse saw him and balked in the doorway. Men in suits were never good news. Steve was there too and the detective's grim expression only added to his trepidation.<p>

"Come in, Jesse." Mark sounded tired – more than that, he sounded weary and it was down to more than the extended length of his shift.

Suddenly, inexplicably nervous, Jesse did as he was bidden and entered the room. The suited man got to his feet, but didn't offer his hand in greeting.

"Jesse, this is Theodore Howell, he's Bailey Hunter's attorney."

Jesse took a moment to take in the appearance of the man. He was young for the obviously successful lawyer that he was – and he had to be successful to be handling Hunter's affairs. Tall and slim, Howell was coldly handsome. His eyes were intense and hawk-like, his nose straight and his lips thin. He looked like a predator – and he was regarding Jesse as though he were prey.

"Doctor Travis, my client will be suing both you and the Times newspaper for libel." Howell offered no pleasantries, but got straight down to business. "We are also insisting that the hospital hold a full public enquiry into your breach of doctor/patient confidentiality."

"Wait a minute," Jesse protested, feeling the first stirrings of panic. "I didn't do anything. I know how it must look, but…"

"How it must look." Howell repeated contemptuously. "You are Jordan Hunter's attending physician; you are the only doctor in this hospital who has access to the information that was disclosed." He paused before playing his final card. "And you are the only employee of Community General who, this morning, had twenty thousand dollars deposited into their bank account."

"Twenty…" Jesse's voice trailed off as he digested that shocking information. He knew nothing about any money, but he also knew that saying so would sound like a pathetic excuse. His eyes slid over to Mark, who was looking decidedly grim.

"You are either very stupid or very naïve," Howell continued relentlessly. "Weren't you aware that the banks have to notify the federal government of any deposit over ten thousand dollars?"

Jesse's mouth opened but no sound emerged. Seeing his keen distress, Steve stepped into the breach.

"What interests me is how you came by that information." He used the same belligerent tone that Howell had adopted. "There are laws against invasions of privacy."

"Nobody invaded anything, Lieutenant." Howell wasn't intimidated by Steve's stance. "The federal government was naturally concerned that somebody should set out to effectively assassinate the next Governor of this State. Bailey is a very popular choice for office."

"And therefore he's bound to have enemies," Mark argued. "Powerful enemies, who would be more than capable of setting Jesse up."

"And paying him twenty thousand dollars; and gaining access to information that only he had." Howell's scorn at this theory was obvious. "Twenty thousand dollars is a lot of money – and a strong incentive for anybody."

"So who paid the money into Jesse's account?" Steve put in. His tone had lost none of its aggression. It wasn't only Bailey Hunter's reputation that was in danger of being ruined.

"I'm sorry?" The unflappable attorney regarded him coolly.

"Who deposited that money into Jesse's account?" Steve ground the words out, striving to hold on to his temper.

Howell blinked at him, his composure remaining infuriatingly intact. After a lengthy pause, he spoke again: "This isn't a police investigation Lieutenant Sloan and I have no intention of standing here and discussing my lawsuit with you." He made a show of looking at his watch. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment with your Board of Directors." He didn't wait for a response, but strode straight for the door. Once there, he turned back to look at Mark. "And I expect Doctor Travis to be suspended – effective immediately."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Synopsis: A suspected case of child abuse becomes embroiled in political intrigue and Jesse's career winds up at stake.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM, I do own the ones that I created.

**Author's note: many thanks to everyone who is reading, reviewing and alerting this story. It's nice to see there is still some love left for this little fandom. **

Chapter Five

Jesse's face had drained of all colour and Amanda, who had been hovering just inside the doorway, moved towards him and slipped her arm around him.

"Don't worry, Jess," she murmured. "I'm sure Mark will think of something. He'll get to the bottom of this – I promise."

Jesse couldn't answer. He was suddenly uncomfortably and stiflingly hot. He didn't know if he wanted to pass out or throw up – and there was even a possibility that he might do both. Unconsciously leaning into Amanda's touch, he allowed her to help him towards the nearest chair. Once he reached it, he sank into it and put his head in his hands.

"Jesse…"

He instantly recognised the tone that Mark used. It was full of sympathy and compassion – but it also warned that he was not about to impart good news. Slowly the young man raised his head.

"Are you gonna suspend me?" he asked, hating the tremor that he was unable to keep out of his voice.

"No, Jesse. I'll have no part in this." In spite of his words, Mark's eyes were still filled with regret. "But once that lawyer has spoken to the Board…"

"Then I'm out of here anyway." Jesse squeezed his eyes shut – feeling sudden tears threaten. "Mark…"

"We're going to fight this Jesse," the older doctor vowed, with fervour. "I'm going to fight your suspension and then we're going to fight this case. All of us – together."

Jesse summoned up a sad little smile and swallowed heavily. The tightness in his throat had less to do with fear and more to do with overwhelming gratitude. Then he shook his head.

"No," he whispered. "I can't let you do that."

"Jesse…"

"Mark, if you go against the Board then you'll just get in trouble too." The young man was as determined as his mentor had previously been. "They'll tell you to suspend me and you can't just ignore them." He looked up at Mark with helpless eyes. "You can't fight them. If you don't do what they say, it's not going to stop them. It'll just mean that the hospital's two doctors down."

"Jess…" Mark tried to interrupt again, but his colleague's argument made too much sense. The Board would not let him stand in the way of their ruling – and they had shown no reluctance in ousting him in the past.

"No, Mark." Jesse's shoulders slumped. "I… I'll tender my resignation."

They could all see just how much it cost Jesse to say those words. His face was pale and strained and his tears were barely kept at bay. But he didn't avert his gaze. He took sole responsibility for what he saw as the only solution.

"The hell you will!" Steve's reaction was instantaneous and predictable. "You can't resign. How do you think that will look?"

"Steve…" Though Jesse appreciated his friend's show of support he knew that it would ultimately prove to be futile.

"I mean, what kind of a message are you trying to put across here? Dad, you can't let him do this."

"I have no intention of doing so." Mark turned his attention back to the beleaguered young man. "Jesse, if you resign now, then there will be no internal investigation – no chance to clear your name before this goes any further. You'll be facing a civil lawsuit and Steve was right in saying that your resignation would only serve to make you look guilty."

"But what am I supposed to do?" Jesse's anguish was written clearly on his features. "When news about the money gets out…"

"I really can see only one way out of this." The older doctor regarded his colleague, pensively. "Jess, you know that I have complete faith in your innocence, don't you?"

"Of course I do."

"And you understand that – no matter what I believe – there will still be an investigation and a hearing."

"Yeah." Jesse silently wondered why they were covering the same ground, but didn't ask it aloud. He trusted Mark implicitly.

"Jesse, I really didn't want to do this." Mark's reluctance was obvious and he dropped a paternal hand onto his colleague's shoulder. "But maybe it would be for the best if I did suspend you."

He had hurt Jesse – he could see that from the way the young man's eyes briefly closed and anguish swept across his features. He wanted to say more, to explain his change of mind, but he never got the chance.

"What?" Steve's outraged voice almost shook the office walls. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Steve!" Mark barked, his worry transmuting into momentary irritation. "Will you please try and think about this rationally? If we wait for the Board to do this then there are going to be some very difficult questions – questions that we're not ready to answer yet. But if Jesse is suspended, then the investigation will go ahead – and we can use that hearing to clear his name. It will buy us some time. That's all we need. I'll delay the Board for as long as I can, as far as the hearing itself is concerned. Hopefully that will give us the time to get to the bottom of this."

"But…" Steve wasn't quite ready to let go of his anger yet. All he could see was how much his best friend was suffering.

"Steve." It was Jesse himself who cut off the next outburst, before it could even begin. "It's okay. Really."

"It's not 'okay', Jess," the detective protested, still seeing anguish in the eyes that stared back at him. "How can it be okay? You're being suspended."

"I know." Jesse swallowed hard. "But that's gonna happen anyway." He summoned up a half smile. "It's… It's easier this way."

* * *

><p>Bailey Hunter had insisted on facing the press. Both Finnegan and Stenson had anticipated that he would and had spent most of the morning working on his speech. It had to be worded just right but, unbeknownst to Hunter himself, they had had all night to make the preparations. Forewarned, they were most definitely forearmed.<p>

The media had been alerted and it had been decided that Stenson would address them first. Then he would hand over to Bailey. The only unknown factor was the myriad of questions that was bound to follow. They could anticipate some of the questions – guess as to the nature of most of them – but there would always be some clever hack who might throw something at them totally out of left field. Both Finnegan and Stenson would be standing by to cover that – and any other – eventuality. They were determined to spare their employer from as much pain as was possible.

Their carefully constructed plan almost came unstuck even before they had put it into action. The three of them were walking down the corridor, going to face the press, when Bailey suddenly stopped in his tracks.

"Son-of-a-bitch," he murmured, his gaze fixed on a point further down the corridor.

The other men followed that gaze and saw Jesse Travis staring back at them, looking equally shocked.

* * *

><p>Jesse had left Mark's office with Amanda, leaving his mentor explaining to his son exactly what was wrong with Jordan and the protocols that were in place to deal with such cases. Jesse hadn't been able to listen. In spite of his own predicament, he had never forgotten that there was seven month old baby still lying in the ICU.<p>

Amanda had seen his distress and quietly suggested that they leave the other men to it. Once out in the corridor, they had wandered somewhat aimlessly for a while before the pathologist spoke.

"What are you going to do now, honey?" she asked.

"I dunno." Jesse's entire demeanour bespoke his misery. "I guess I should just go home. I…" He glanced away a little shamefacedly. "I was trying to think of some way to get past those reporters. I, uh… I want to be out of here before they find out that I've been suspended."

"Oh, Jesse." Unable to bear that sight of him looking so sad, Amanda rubbed his arm in a friendly gesture. "It might be hard to believe at the moment, but it will be okay."

"I guess." The young doctor didn't seem at all convinced. "But…"

Anything else he might have said was forgotten as he glanced down the corridor. His words were cut off as his throat suddenly went dry. Bailey Hunter was standing barely twenty yards away and was glowering at him as though he wanted to kill him.

"Jesse." Amanda's voice was soft, but the warning in it was still clear. She instantly recognised Bailey Hunter, in spite of how drawn and grey he was looking. Even considering what Jesse was going through, she felt immense sympathy for the man. She could barely comprehend how he must have been feeling but, as a mother herself, she shuddered at the thought of what he was enduring.

If Jesse heard her, then he didn't react. He stood staring at Hunter – looking for all the world like a deer caught in headlights. Amanda could feel the tension emanating from him and sought some way to get him away, to spare him from any further distress. But she was too late.

Eyes blazing, Hunter snapped out of his own shock-induced paralysis and stormed over to where they stood. She heard one of the other men utter his own warning – but it, too, went ignored.

"Travis," Hunter spat, with open contempt. "Is that why you wanted me to remember your name – so that I'd know exactly who it was that stabbed me in the back?"

"M… Mr Hunter…"

Amanda winced inwardly as Jesse could only stammer out the other man's name.

"When I saw the headlines this morning, I just wanted to know why," Hunter continued, towering over Jesse, who unconsciously shrank away. "What had I ever done to you? What had I done to drive you to destroy my life?"

"I… I didn't…" Jesse's ineffectual protest was barely audible.

"And now I'm told that it was all about money." Hunter's raised voice was beginning to draw stares, but he seemed oblivious to the growing audience. "You sicken me. You're supposed to be a doctor and you sell out to the highest bidder. Maybe it would have been better if you had been an enemy –if you were seeking some political gain. That, at least, I could understand. Or was it one of my opponents who paid you?"

"Bailey…" Finnegan stepped forwards, intending to stop the other man before he could say something slanderous – there were too many witnesses and it was making him nervous.

"No, Miles!" Hunter shrugged off his aide's calming hand. "I have a right to say this – after what he did to me." He turned his full attention back to the source of his wrath. "Dammit, you call yourself a doctor. Wasn't there some oath that you took? Some ethic that you're bound by? And for twenty grand, dammit!"

Finnegan moved quickly – seeing the exact moment that Hunter's temper snapped completely. He forced himself between his employer and the doctor, just as the former drew back his fist.

"Bailey! Bailey!" He practically yelled into Hunter's face. "That's not going to help. Bailey! Calm down!"

There was a brief moment of tension when Finnegan truly believed that he hadn't got through to him, but then Hunter's body relaxed marginally and he reluctantly backed down.

Finnegan let out a slow breath. "Okay," he said, having regained his composure. "Come on, Bailey. We have an appointment with the media."

But Hunter still wasn't quite ready to let things go. Even as his aide took hold of his arm, intending to guide him away from the ugly scene, he turned back to the white faced doctor.

"I hope you enjoy the money." The anger had gone from his tone, but the coldness in its place was equally chilling. "Because as sure as you have tried to destroy my career, I am going to end yours."

* * *

><p>The confrontation over, the small crowd that had gathered slowly began to disperse. Now the gossip would be running more rife than ever and Jesse couldn't help but wonder how it would be exaggerated and distorted as it was passed from person to person. Still consumed by shock, he staggered away from Amanda until he could feel the wall against his back. His legs no longer seemed capable of supporting him and he needed the stability or else he genuinely feared that he might collapse.<p>

"Jesse…"

He could hear the concern in Amanda's voice and he tried to find a smile for her. Then it froze on his face as he looked beyond her. Finnegan and Stenson had managed to get Hunter further down the corridor, but they were both still talking to him – quietly but with unmistakable urgency, trying to get him into the right frame of mind for the press conference.

But Jesse barely even registered that. His gaze was focussed solely on the young woman who stood alone, now that the other onlookers had drifted away – and who was staring at him in utter disbelief.

"Sonia…"

Gone was the gentle, shy smile that she usually greeted him with. She shook her head slowly, the disbelieving look being replaced by disgust.

"I came to find you because I didn't think the stories could be true." Sonia made no attempt to close the distance between them and her tone caused even Hunter and his aides to glance towards her. "But then I find out it was all for money? My God, Jesse, did I ever know you?"

"Sonia, wait!"

She had turned away, but her head snapped back round when he called out to her.

"What, Jesse?" she snapped. "Do you think I still want to go out with you? You know, I certainly wouldn't want to 'read all about it' the next day!"

"Now wait a minute!" Amanda, unable to bear the pain that was so apparent on Jesse's features, leapt to his defence. "Those are just rumours. None of it's true."

"For twenty grand?" It was obvious that the EMT had been privy to the entire scene. "And to use a little kid like that?" She turned her angry eyes back to Jesse. "You disgust me."

As Sonia turned on her heel and stormed back down the corridor, Finnegan watched her with interested eyes. At first the drama had been a distraction that he didn't need – but then an idea began to form.

"We really should be going." Stenson glanced impatiently at his watch. They really were cutting things very fine and the press pack was going to be hostile enough without being kept waiting.

Finnegan's responding nod was somewhat distracted. "You go on ahead without me. I'll catch you up."

"Miles." Stenson tried to protest. Everything had been so carefully orchestrated, now was not the time to be changing the agenda.

"It'll be okay," the aide assured him. "I'll be right behind you. Go and introduce Bailey and let him get on with his speech. I'll be there in plenty of time for the Q and A." He was still watching Sonia's retreating form. "There's something I have to do first."

Without giving the other men the chance to protest any further, he headed off after the still clearly angry EMT.

* * *

><p>Finnegan's actions went unnoticed by both Jesse and Amanda. The former because he was still in shock and the latter because she was so deeply concerned for her friend. He looked dreadful. His face was completely white and it seemed that the wall he leaned heavily on was the only thing keeping him upright.<p>

"Jesse…" She had to say something, but the words simply weren't there. How did you help someone to cope with such a thing?

"I'm okay." His response was an obvious lie and his attempted smile was weak and ineffectual. "I, um… I just wanted to say thanks. You know, for… um, for sticking up for me like that."

"I wish there was more I could have done," Amanda answered.

"You know what the worst thing is?" Jesse's tearful eyes met hers ever so briefly. "I know that I didn't do anything wrong but… everybody… everybody's so quick to believe it."

"Not everybody, honey." The warmth in her smile reminded him that he did have some true friends who would – as they had so often in the past – continue to stand by him. And fight for him. "Come on, do you want to get a coffee? You look like you could use one."

"Thanks, Amanda," he said again. Then he seemed to gather himself and pushed away from the wall. "But I really just… I need to get out of here…"

"I understand." Though the confrontations she had witnessed had shocked her deeply, something that Finnegan had said suddenly came back to her. "They're having a press conference now, Jess. It might be a good time to get away unnoticed."

Jesse attempted another smile and it was only marginally more successful than the first. He was thinking about what he had to go home to: his empty apartment – and way too much time to think.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Synopsis: A suspected case of child abuse becomes embroiled in political intrigue and Jesse's career winds up at stake.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM, I do own the ones that I created.

**Author's note: As always, thanks for the reviews and alerts. This chapter makes reference to the Season Five episode 'Discards'.**

Chapter Six

Finnegan was true to his word and arrived at the press conference just moments after Hunter had begun his carefully prepared speech. He stood to one side, feeling pleased with the way that things had turned out. The confrontation with Doctor Travis had almost been their undoing – an assault charge would have been much more difficult to smooth over – but it had, in the end, only served to help their cause. It had introduced them to Sonia Antonio.

He had made a point of introducing himself to her – knowing instinctively that she might prove to be useful. She had been going out with Travis, but had then humiliated him in public. And she was still clearly angry at him. Who better to try and get some dirt off?

Though confused by Finnegan's interest in her, Sonia had readily agreed to talk to him. The meeting was set for that evening.

Still, Finnegan knew better than to try and anticipate ahead. She might, after all, have nothing useful to give him. Or she might have an attack of conscience and refuse to answer his questions. So he pushed all thoughts of her out of his mind and concentrated on the press conference.

Hunter was a natural before the cameras. He was young, handsome and charismatic – and, even clearly distraught, he was very photogenic. That was part of the reason why he was so popular. He was easy on the eye and easy to talk to. He was perfect for the Governor's Office. Watching him – seeing the tears that stood in his eyes as he spoke and the tremor that shook his hands as they turned the pages of the notes – made Finnegan doubly determined that he would get there.

* * *

><p>Steve and Mark also made it downstairs in time to catch the majority of Hunter's speech. They stood towards the back of the room that had been allocated and watched in grim silence. Hunter was either a very good actor – or he was completely innocent. And he was gradually winning the press over to his side – which didn't bode well for Jesse.<p>

He explained how he had felt when he had found Jordan's seemingly lifeless body, how terrified he had been as he had stopped breathing and had to be given CPR. He told the assembled throng how the nanny had been lost in hysteria – and unable to tell anyone what had happened.

Mark listened closely – and he also watched the man – seeking some clue, some minor hint that he might be lying, but he picked up on nothing untoward.

Then Hunter went on to talk about their arrival at the hospital and Mark unconsciously leaned forwards – listening ever harder.

"The doctor who took care of Jordan – Doctor Travis…" Hunter's voice easily carried to every corner of the room. "He seemed kind and sympathetic. I had no reason to doubt either his honesty or his integrity." He paused and took a moment to glance down at his notes. "He told me what he thought had happened to Jordan; he told me that there would be an investigation. What he didn't tell me was that he was going to crucify myself and my family in the manner that he did."

Those words inevitably launched a barrage of questions from the assembled reporters. Hunter held up his hands, calling for silence and waited until the voices had died down before he continued.

"To accept payment of twenty thousand dollars in exchange for what was nothing more than an unsubstantiated rumour is beneath contempt. I answered the questions that he asked of me. I helped in any way that I could." Hunter took a deep breath and lifted his chin defiantly. "And I will continue to do so. I want to know what happened to my son. I want to know why he is, even now, lying in the Intensive Care Unit of this hospital; why, yesterday, he was…" He faltered, his voice breaking. "Undergoing… undergoing brain surgery…" His composure slipped completely then and he squeezed his eyes shut, gripping hold of the podium behind which he stood so hard that his knuckles turned white.

As the questions began again – with no regard to Hunter's obvious distress – Steve glanced towards his father. Mark was frowning deeply. His chin rested in his hand, something was obviously troubling him. Steve had seen that look many times before.

"Dad?" he asked, simply.

"We shouldn't talk here." Though nobody was paying any attention to them, Mark had more sense than to risk being overheard.

* * *

><p>"Everything about this is wrong," Mark said, closing the door of the doctors' lounge behind him. "I genuinely believe that Bailey Hunter had nothing to do with whatever happened to Jordan – and I don't even think he knows what that was."<p>

"Do you think there's a chance that Jesse's diagnosis was wrong?" Steve asked, his own bleak expression mirroring his father's.

"No, no I don't." Mark answered without even pausing. "I know his report wasn't finished but, from what I saw and what he told me, I'd have reached the same conclusions myself." He handed Steve a coffee, then sank down onto the couch. It had been a long night – and an even longer morning. "But I also can't believe that somebody hurt Jordan to get at Hunter."

"So you still think this has more to do with Jesse than it does Bailey Hunter?" Steve asked, remembering his father's earlier theory.

"I don't know. That's what I can't figure out." Mark lost himself in thought for a moment. "The timing is all wrong, for one thing. If someone was out to get Jesse, they couldn't have anticipated that this would happen," he elucidated. "And how did they get hold of the information that was leaked? Then there's the twenty thousand dollars that appeared, literally, overnight."

"Which brings us straight back to the 'who?'" his son retorted, frustration creeping into his voice. "Who, not only would have twenty grand to spare, but could also lay their hands on it instantly – and arrange to have it transferred into Jesse's account so quickly?"

"Yes, you certainly would expect that to narrow down the list of suspects," Mark mused. "Unfortunately, seeing as there's no-one on that list…"

"I guess I'd better make a start on compiling one."

"Where are you going?" Mark asked, as Steve rose from his chair.

"To talk to Jesse." The response was unsurprising. They had very few other options. "I'll see if he's got any ideas; whether anyone's threatened him or anything."

"Steve, while you're over there…" The detective paused at the door and turned back. "Ask Jesse over for dinner tomorrow night. I'd ask him tonight, but I have another shift. I think he might be glad of the company."

"Dad, if you're working tonight, don't you think you should go home and get some sleep?" Worries for his friend were momentarily pushed aside as he noticed just how exhausted his father was looking.

"That's exactly what I intend to do, son."

* * *

><p>Amanda had been right. The press conference had afforded Jesse the ideal opportunity to sneak away from the hospital. Though there was inevitable interest in him, seeing the grieving father speak was too good an opportunity for each and every reporter to pass up.<p>

So he had made it home relatively unscathed and then he had collapsed onto his couch, his head still spinning from the events of the morning. He had briefly considered turning the TV on, but had quickly decided against it. He didn't want to take the risk of catching a glimpse of the headlines. He knew what they would consist of – and didn't think that he could stomach it.

Instead, he sat in silence and tried to make some sense of the way that his world had so quickly collapsed around him. The prospect of the investigation positively terrified him and, while he knew that he would have the full support and help of his friends, he also knew that his defence consisted of little more than his word.

Then his phone rang.

Jesse answered without thinking – it was an automatic reaction – and he frowned at the strange voice that greeted him.

"Yes, this is Doctor Travis," he answered, his confusion evident in his tone.

Then the man asked if he had any comment to make on Bailey and Jordan Hunter. Jesse swiftly hung up – but that had only been the first. He only answered the phone on the first three times that it rang because, though the voices had been different, the questions were always the same.

Eventually, tired of its incessant ringing, he simply unplugged it at the wall. As an afterthought, he also switched off his cellphone. He knew that reporters could be resourceful and that it wouldn't be long before one – or more – of them obtained that number too.

His paranoia grew as he sat alone in his apartment – and when there was a sudden knock at the door he glanced towards it with frightened eyes, but made no move to go and answer it.

* * *

><p>Like the ringing of the phone, the banging on the door didn't stop. In fact, it got louder, the door rattling in its frame as whoever was on the other side grew ever more impatient.<p>

Still Jesse made no attempt to move. He knew with all of his heart that he didn't want to confront whoever that someone was. Another intense bout of banging began, but this time it was accompanied by a voice.

"Open up – Government Agents!"

Jesse started in surprise and drew back even further on the couch. What else had happened? What new disaster was about to befall him? Paralysed by fear and dread, he knew that he really should answer the door – but he couldn't. He really didn't think he could take any more that day.

The decision was taken away from him as, after a brief moment of silence – during which Jesse dared to hope that they'd gone away – the door suddenly imploded inwards, the lock splintering under a brutal and violent kick.

His paralysis broken, Jesse scrambled to his feet – instinctively backing away as three men burst in. They didn't look like police, or Federal Agents. All three of them wore suits and, in spite of their smart appearance, exuded an air of unmistakable menace.

"Who… who are you?" he stammered, past the dryness in his throat. "What..?"

"We are here to ask the questions, Doctor Travis." The biggest of the three men stepped forwards and Jesse noticed that he was wearing black leather gloves. The sight only increased his fear another notch.

Another man calmly closed his broken door – and, unable to lock it, leant against it, preventing entry from outside. Jesse took another step back.

"We are, ultimately, on the same side, Doctor Travis." The first man spoke again. "We work for the American Government and as a patriotic citizen, I'm sure that you will be prepared to cooperate with your own Government."

"Um… Uh…" Jesse had backed himself into a corner and two of the men stalked relentlessly after him, effectively trapping him. The third maintained his post by the door. "Y… Yeah…"

"So, naturally, we were concerned when the son of one of our agents began to involve himself in politics."

"My dad?" Jesse stared at the man in complete and utter shock. "My dad sent you?"

A gloved hand suddenly slammed into the wall alongside Jesse's head, missing his face by the merest fraction of an inch. The young doctor flinched violently, a startled cry escaping him.

"I told you," his main aggressor snarled. "We ask the questions."

Jesse managed a shaky nod and cringed further back into the corner – knowing that it would do little to protect him should things turn physical. The man pulled his gloves on more securely and Jesse's throat tightened with fear. He knew that their actions were designed to intimidate him. The problem was that the tactic was working too well.

"Your father knows nothing about our little… assignment. And that is how things are going to stay." The man leant in closer. "Do you understand me?"

Jesse somehow managed another nod in response.

"The Company cannot be seen to be involved in an election. We do live in a democracy, after all." He was deliberately invading Jesse's personal space, leaving him nowhere to escape. "Did your father have anything to do with your actions?"

"My…" Jesse was struggling to catch his breath, much less speak. He swallowed heavily and somehow forced his voice to work. "I didn't…"

"Was this his idea? Has Dane gone rogue?" the man barked. "Or was it all about the money? You weren't very discreet."

"I don't know where the money came from!" Jesse cried. He had to say something. He had a feeling that the agent wasn't the most patient of men. "I didn't ask for it! I didn't do anything wrong!"

"That would depend on your definition of wrong." The big man took one step back, but Jesse's respite was brief. The second man now loomed over him and closed a large hand around his throat. Jesse snatched in a desperate breath as his airway was brutally cut off. Then it was instantly forced from his lungs as his captor's free hand slammed into his gut.

"Let's try again." The first man – the only one who had, thus far, spoken – stepped back into the fray, but Jesse still wasn't released. The man who held him merely adjusted his grip, but kept him pinned firmly to the wall. "You know who we are and you know what we do. This can be easy or hard. Your choice." He folded his arms across his chest – his eyes glinting dangerously. "Dane Travis. When was the last time you spoke to him?"

"Um…" Writhing helplessly in the grip of the man who held him – who eased the pressure on his throat just enough to allow him to talk – Jesse desperately sought the memory. "I… A couple of months back…" The hand tightened, forcing his head back into the wall and Jesse flinched in fearful anticipation of another blow. "I don't… We're not close…"

The flinch, the anticipation, did nothing to minimise the pain of the fist that crashed into his ribs.

"A little warning against lying, Doctor Travis," the big man said, smiling nastily. "We know a lot about you. We know, for example, that your father has involved you with his… work before. Was this another such occasion?"

"No…" Tears of pain and fear stood in Jesse's eyes. "No, he didn't… Kesslar…" He didn't know what was prompting the other man to hit him, but something obviously was. A third blow slammed into his abdomen and he tried to collapse around it, but the hand at his throat was merciless.

"We know all about Kesslar," the spokesman answered on a sigh. "And that is not who we are here to talk about. Doctor Travis, your father is, at present, on an overseas assignment. If we were to recall him in order to ask him these questions – then that would attract the attention of our superiors. And they wouldn't ask even remotely as nicely as we are."

* * *

><p>Steve jogged up the stairs of Jesse's apartment building, feeling as though they had achieved their first small victory of the day. He had expected the press to have tracked down his friend's address by now and to have to fight his way through a hoard of reporters in order to get in.<p>

But there had been no unusual activity outside – no news vans, no photographers, nothing. Maybe they hadn't realised that Jesse had left the hospital yet – or maybe Hunter's press conference was still keeping them occupied. Whatever the reason, Steve was just thankful that his friend was, for the time being at least, being spared from that further trauma.

The offer of dinner at the beach house would be sure to cheer up the younger man too. Jesse couldn't resist Mark's cooking. Steve smiled wryly as, swift on the heels of that thought, a dry voice added that Jesse couldn't resist cooking of any description.

Then he turned the corner approaching his goal and the smile instantly faded. Something was wrong and his purposeful footsteps slowed as he replayed what he had just caught the briefest glimpse of.

Jesse's front door had quickly closed, the moment that he came into view. That in itself shouldn't have been suspicious – Jesse may well have closed the door himself – but the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up and a gut instinct, that he couldn't possibly ignore, told him something was wrong – very wrong.

Keeping close to the wall and moving silently, Steve drew his gun and crept towards the apartment.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Synopsis: A suspected case of child abuse becomes embroiled in political intrigue and Jesse's career winds up at stake.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM, I do own the ones that I created.

**Author's note: Sincere apologies for the lengthy delay in updating – and thanks, as always, for the reviews and alerts.**

Chapter Seven

"We've got company." It was the man by the door who had spoken, the first voice that Jesse had heard other than his interrogator's.

"Who?" the first man demanded, his tone not changing from when he'd been firing questions at Jesse.

"Sloan."

Jesse's heart froze in his chest and he silently prayed for the man to elaborate. Which Sloan was it? Mark or Steve? His eyes strayed to the door. It would be bad enough for Steve to walk in on these three obviously dangerous men – but Mark…

The tableau remained frozen for the briefest of moments and then the first man turned back to him – anger flashing in his dark eyes.

"This conversation isn't over," he growled in a low, threatening voice. "And, if I were you I would think carefully before I said too much about this to your friends. We don't like too many civilians knowing our business."

The man stepped away and Jesse knew that he was going to be hit again even before the man who held him drew back his fist. The punch that landed in his gut forced a cry of pain from him. At the same moment, the hand was removed from his throat and he collapsed inelegantly to his knees, his arms automatically moving to his abused midriff.

* * *

><p>Steve approached the door cautiously, his every sense straining to give him some clue as to what he might be walking in on. He heard a strange voice and then a muffled thud.<p>

He reached out towards the door handle – wondering whether he should call out a warning – and then frowned faintly as he noticed the splintering around the lock.

He grasped the handle firmly and slowly eased it downwards. Then suddenly, it was yanked open from the inside. Instinct had Steve's gun up and cocked without conscious thought, his finger on the trigger and ready to shoot should the situation warrant it.

The man on the other side didn't even flinch. Steve's eyes flickered around the apartment, taking in the scene. There were three men, all of them wearing suits. They didn't appear to be armed, but Steve knew better than to put his faith in appearances. They looked like the type of men to carry guns. He couldn't see Jesse anywhere and he kept his gun trained on the nearest man.

"Hold it – police!" He issued the standard warning, his eyes constantly moving between the three of them. "What the hell's going on here? And where's Jesse?"

"He's right here." The biggest of the men smiled, but there was nothing friendly about it. He stepped slightly to one side and finally Jesse came into view. The doctor was struggling to his feet, one hand clutching his stomach and his face as white as death.

"Jess? Are you okay?" Steve didn't spare him more than the briefest glance. The other three men were moving subtly – unthreateningly – but it was apparent that soon they would have him unable to cover them all. "Freeze!" he snapped, gesturing with the gun for emphasis.

"There really is no need for such theatrics." The same man spoke again and the words were accompanied by another insidious movement. "My colleagues and I were just leaving."

"Not until you tell me who you are and what you're doing here."

"Steve." Jesse's voice was pained and there was a pleading look in his eyes. "It's okay. Just… Let them go. Please."

"Jesse?" Steve was distracted again and it allowed the agents another chance to alter position – to marginally shift the advantage. "What's going on?"

"It's okay," the younger man said again. He was fully on his feet by now, but was obviously still in pain. "I… I can explain…"

Steve paused for a moment longer and then, with great reluctance and going against his better judgement, he lowered his gun. He didn't really have much of a choice in the matter. He had no reason to arrest them and, even if he did, it was clear that all three of them were professionals. They could quite easily have left had they so desired – whether Steve had wanted them to or not.

He stood to one side as they exited the room, the swagger in their movements telling him they knew that as well as he did. Only when the final one had left did Steve turn his full attention to his friend.

"Jesse?" He crossed swiftly to where the younger man stood, concerned by the awkward way in which he was holding himself. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Jesse answered, but the grimace that accompanied his words turned them into an instant lie.

Steve carefully manoeuvred him over to the couch and sat him down, noticing the way that his friend was careful to protect his abdomen. Once they were seated, he tried to ease Jesse's shirt open.

"I said I'm fine, Steve," Jesse argued, trying to twist away – only to stiffen and forcibly stifle a cry as fresh pain flared through him.

"You're not fine," Steve growled in response, persisting in his efforts to see exactly what was wrong. "Who were those guys, anyway?"

"They were…" Jesse slumped back under the ministering hands, knowing that he didn't have the strength to win this particular battle. "They, um… work with my dad."

"Jesse…" Steve hissed the word out as he finally got a look at his friend's stomach – and the angry marks that were already beginning to darken into deep bruises. "They hit you?" He looked up towards the door, seriously contemplating going after them. "Jess, why didn't you say something? Why did you just let them walk out of here?"

"I… It's… um…" He well remembered the warning he'd been given and floundered for a plausible excuse. "I mean they…"

"Jesse, why was the CIA interrogating you?"

"It wasn't…"

"When guys use their fists to get answers to their questions, then it's an interrogation," Steve interrupted sharply – deeply worried by what he had walked in on, but also thankful that he had arrived when he did. Otherwise, who knew what might have happened? "What the hell's going on?"

"I… I can't…" The convenient lie refused to manifest itself and Jesse subsided into miserable silence. It was never going to be enough to deter Steve.

"Does this have anything to do with what's been happening at the hospital? With Bailey Hunter?" the detective demanded. "Why is the CIA involved?" When continued silence was the only response, he tried a different tack: "What am I supposed to do, Jesse? Just walk out of here and leave you? What if those guys come back?"

Jesse turned tear-bright eyes towards him. Those men would return – there was no doubting it. "I can't tell you, Steve. They… they told me not to." He blinked, silently cursing his weakness.

"Jess…"

"I'll be okay." The young doctor forced a smile, designed to be reassuring. It didn't work. "I… um, I'll check into a motel for a couple of days…"

"Come back to the beach house," Steve offered in response.

"No!" The chance of those agents tracking him down there – of endangering his friends – was too great. "No, I'll be fine."

"Not even for a little while?" Steve persisted. "At least let my dad take a look at you."

"Honestly, I'm okay." Jesse's responding smile was filled with gratitude. "I'm a doctor too, you know."

"Yeah and we know what kind of patients doctors make," Steve grumbled, not quite under his breath.

"About as good as detectives," came the cheeky reply – even if the light-hearted tone was somewhat forced.

Steve chuckled good naturedly in response, but his worry hadn't decreased at all. Those men had been intimidating even to him – the thought of Jesse alone at their mercies filled him with dread. And he was not about to take the risk of a repeat of what he had interrupted. "You know, my dad will never forgive me if I just let you go off to some motel – especially not if he knew you were hurt."

"You don't have to tell him," the younger man tentatively suggested.

"Jess, have you ever tried lying to my dad?" The pained look on Steve's face said more than words ever could.

"Steve…" He had to try one last token protest – even though he knew when he was beaten. "I can't…"

"Sure you can. You know you're always welcome." He offered his friend his most sincere smile. "And nothing has happened to change that."

"I guess… I guess maybe for a little while…" He paused, glancing towards his front door. "But, um… Do you know anything about fixing doors?"

* * *

><p>His shift had been over for almost three hours, but Mark still hadn't made it home. He had almost escaped – had, in fact, got as far as trading his white coat for his jacket. Then he heard his name being announced over the tannoy system.<p>

Stifling a weary sigh, he crossed to the nearest telephone to take the internal call that the disembodied voice had informed him was waiting for him.

Five minutes later he was at the office of Clifton Fisher, a member of the hospital Board – having been urgently summoned by him. The Directors were no respecters of shift work or late nights. They kept office hours and conducted their business in exactly the same way, so Mark didn't even bother protesting that he had been at the hospital for more than sixteen hours and still had another night shift ahead of him. Such a protest would only have fallen on deaf ears. And he had never for a moment considered ignoring the summons. Jesse was relying on him.

Fisher was a senior Board member – and one who Mark had had numerous dealings with in the past. He was stubborn and single-minded, but he did always seem to have the genuine interests of the hospital at heart. There were worse executives whom he might have had to deal with.

As he walked in, Mark noticed that the lawyer from that morning, Howell, was also present. He greeted him with only the briefest nod before taking his seat.

"I'm sure that by now you must be aware of the allegations made against Doctor Travis this morning." No introductions were necessary, so Fisher got straight down to business. "In light of the seriousness of those allegations, I can see that we have no choice but to suspend Doctor Travis, effective immediately until…"

"It's already been done, Clifton," Mark answered, tiredly.

Those words were greeted with barely concealed surprise, but the Director didn't let it distract him: "As you know, media speculation has been rife," he continued, unruffled. "And I will not allow this hospital to become a circus. Therefore, it is imperative that we clear the matter up with all due haste. And, it has been decided that the investigation into Doctor Travis's alleged misconduct will convene at two o'clock tomorrow afternoon."

"Tomorrow?" All tiredness forgotten, Mark sat bolt upright in his chair. "But that doesn't give us any time to…"

"Us, Doctor Sloan?" Fisher repeated with a sardonically raised eyebrow.

"Yes, of course." He was a little thrown by the response. Surely Fisher must have known he would be standing by Jesse. "Naturally, I'll be helping with his defence…"

"Actually, Doctor Sloan, that won't be possible." Howell spoke up for the first time then. "As the Chief of Internal Medicine, you are the most experienced and most knowledgeable doctor in this hospital. You cannot defend Doctor Travis because I will be calling you as an expert witness."

"What?"

"Many of the events of the last two days regard detailed medical procedures," Howell explained, with an air of unmistakable impatience. "You are renowned for your knowledge and expertise and you have often worked as a consultant to the LAPD. You reputation is beyond repute. Who better to address the Investigatory panel than you?"

"No… no, I can't…" Flustered by the very idea, Mark fumbled for a suitable protest. "Jesse's my friend…"

"Are you saying that you would lie to the panel because the accused is a friend of yours?"

"No, of course not…" Mark felt as though he was being interrogated himself.

"All I want from you is the truth about any medical matters that arise." Howell was implacable. "Laymen's explanations for those less knowledgeable, but I will be calling you as a witness for the prosecution."

"Wait a minute! This isn't a court of law – it's not a trial."

"Would you rather I took this through the courts? It could be arranged and I could have the subpoena on your desk by the morning."

"That won't be necessary." Fisher interrupted. "Doctor Sloan, Mr Howell is not asking anything unreasonable of you. You are the Chief of Internal Medicine and the obvious choice as an expert witness. The very fact that Doctor Travis is your friend will show the world that we are running a completely open and fair investigation. Your character is beyond question – you epitomise truth and justice. And, if you are so convinced that Doctor Travis has done nothing wrong, then you have nothing to worry about, do you?"

"I can't do this to him."

"You can't not do it. If you refuse to give expert testimony then it would suggest to me that you think there is something to hide – and that you don't want to be the one to reveal it."

There was no answer that he could possibly give to such a statement and he slumped down in his chair – nodding reluctantly to the proposal.

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache threaten. He could only too easily imagine what this was going to do to Jesse. The young man would be counting on his help and support and now he was being forced to refuse him both.

Jesse would be crushed and devastated – and he might even see it as censure. Mark made a silent vow that – no matter what – he would ensure his friend knew he had complete and utter faith in him and he believed in him one hundred per cent. And he would find someone to fulfil the role that he was being denied.

"Doctor Sloan." Howell's voice cut through his pondering and it was with great reluctance that he opened his eyes. Already, he was beginning to hate the sound of his voice. The attorney was on his feet and glaring down at him. "Seeing as you consider yourself to be a friend of the accused, I have to warn you not to discuss the hearing or anything else in relation to the allegations. We wouldn't want anything prejudicing the investigation. In fact, you should not speak to Doctor Travis prior to, or at any time during, the hearing."

Howell left then without offering a single word of farewell. With nothing left to say, Mark got to his feet, intending to follow him.

"Mark," Fisher called out after him, stopping him at the door. "You'd better do what he said. The eyes of America are on this hospital and one wrong move could tarnish our reputation irreparably."

"What about the reputation of one of the finest young doctors I've ever known?" Mark retorted, bleakly.

"I'm not throwing him to the wolves here," the Director snapped in response. "Doctor Travis will receive a fair hearing. The very fact that you will be providing the medical testimony should tell you that."

Mark nodded once more – but he was far from happy with the onus that had been forced upon him. Howell had something up his sleeve – he was certain of it – but he had no time to try and find out what it was. And no time to prepare for the task that lay ahead.

* * *

><p>Steve busied himself making coffee, trying to pretend that everything was normal when he felt anything but. It had taken time to secure Jesse's apartment – time during which Hunter's press conference had obviously concluded and the press pack had succeeded in tracking down the young doctor's address.<p>

They had been unable to escape completely unnoticed. Even the simple ruse of using Steve's car hadn't helped. Jesse was spotted and the chase was on. Not wanting to be hounded right back to the beach house, Steve had eventually shaken the most persistent of them by switching on his sirens and running a couple of red lights – something which would have inordinately thrilled his friend in different circumstances. As it was, he had completed the journey in white faced silence.

From his vantage point in the kitchen, Steve took a moment to study the young man. Jesse was slumped on the couch, pretending to watch the TV but Steve could tell, even from a distance, that he wasn't seeing it. He had obviously – and unsurprisingly – descended into a state of shock.

Knowing that he wasn't going to achieve anything by just looking at his friend, Steve made his way back to the lounge area – frowning when Jesse didn't even acknowledge his return, didn't so much as nod in thanks for the coffee that was placed in front of him.

"Jess?" Steve kept his voice low, not wanting to startle his friend, but the younger man still flinched at the sound.

"Oh…" Jesse came back to himself with a start and glanced away in embarrassment. "I was… um…"

"You were miles away, Jesse." His voice was kindly, but his eyes betrayed his concern. "You wanna talk about it?"

"No, I…" That was exactly what he wanted to do, but he couldn't find the words. He shrugged helplessly. "I don't think there's a lot to say."

"Jesse, we'll get to the bottom of this," Steve promised – seeking the words that would lift the shroud of gloom that currently weighed his friend down. "You know my dad; he's not gonna let you take the fall for something you didn't do – and neither will I. I promise you."

Jesse tried to smile his gratitude in response to that statement, but it was never in danger of reaching his eyes.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Synopsis: A suspected case of child abuse becomes embroiled in political intrigue and Jesse's career winds up at stake.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM, I do own the ones that I created.

**Author's note: I need to comment on the review I received for 'No Big Deal'. **

_**Judy Gras: **_**People like you utterly frustrate me! You have no words to say until you want to offer a flame for what you hate. Try offering praise for what you LIKE! Maybe then there would be more gen fics on here. **

**This is the reason why this fandom is not only on its knees; it has also been read the last rites.**

BTW slash fiction is ALWAYS preferable to a Mary-Sue.

Chapter Eight

Mark sighed wearily as he trudged up the steps of the beach house. It had been a struggle, but he had managed to arrange cover for his shift that night. That gave him time to sleep and to try and come up with some kind of a plan to help Jesse. It would have been easier if he had known just what kind of questions Howell had in store for him; "medical details" was sketchy to say the least – and the lawyer had struck him as the underhand type. He wouldn't risk using a friend of the accused as a hostile witness; not unless he had something up his sleeve.

Then there was the problem of who was going to defend Jesse. Though it wasn't a trial, an investigatory hearing could be equally as frightening. His young friend would need someone who he was comfortable with and, more importantly, trusted implicitly at his side.

That was where he was having the most trouble. He knew people who could defend Jesse to the hilt – the problem was that Jesse didn't know them and he most certainly didn't need a stranger at his side. He'd toyed with the idea of asking Amanda. After all, she was a pathologist and so was used to arguing a point in a court of law. But then he'd had to ask himself if it would be fair on her. She would be up against a professional attorney and would even have to cross-examine Mark himself. It was difficult for him to impose that on her – and it _would_ be an imposition. She would not, he knew, deny Jesse should he ask it of her.

Another sigh escaped him as he opened the front door and dumped his bag on to the floor. He didn't so much as raise his head as he crossed the lounge – he was too deeply lost in his own thoughts.

"Hi, dad."

"Hey, Mark."

Mark had merely lifted one hand in response to his son's greeting, but his head snapped up at the sound of the second voice. It wasn't a voice he wanted to hear at that moment – not given the onus so recently placed upon him.

"Jesse, what are you doing here?" He regretted the words the moment they had left his mouth. His tone had given too much away. He could see that from the sharp look Steve directed at him and the hurt that flashed across Jesse's features. "I'm sorry." The apology came instantly and he rubbed a weary hand across his brow. Then he could only stand in the centre of the lounge, feeling utterly torn in two.

"Dad, what is it?" It was Steve who asked the inevitable question, as Jesse could only sit there looking utterly bewildered. "What's wrong?"

"I…" Mark threw an almost desperate look towards his young colleague. "I really shouldn't discuss it. Not…" He trailed off, but his implication was obvious.

"Not in front of Jesse?" Steve picked up on it instantly. "Is that what you're saying? Why? What the hell's going on?"

Mark sagged, his weariness suddenly weighing him down. It was true that he didn't want to say too much in front of Jesse – and not only because Howell had warned him not to. He also didn't want to see the betrayal that would be so apparent on his friend's expressive face when he revealed what he was being forced to do. But how could he just leave that man so confused and frightened when, more than anything, he was in need of a friend? Besides, wouldn't the truth be better coming from him than from someone who might not break it so gently?

Taking a deep breath, he crossed to the couch and sat alongside Jesse. He bowed his head for a moment, seeking the right words – and then looked up into fearful blue eyes.

"Jess, the Board has decided that your hearing will begin tomorrow," he said, choosing to get the easier part out of the way first. "It's convening at two o'clock."

"To… tomorrow?" Jesse's voice was filled with dismay. "But that doesn't give us very much time to… you know, get ready for it…" A pleading look entered his eyes. "I mean, we don't even know why anyone would set me up… And we don't know what their motive was. We need more time, Mark."

"Jesse." Mark's voice was low, but the gravity of his tone silenced the younger man. "I'm afraid that…" He paused and then tried again. "I can't…" He bolstered his courage and looked Jesse straight in the eye. "I'm not being allowed to represent you tomorrow."

The reaction was equally as bad as any that his imagination had conjured up. Raw hurt crossed those boyish features and sudden tears filled his eyes. Then he looked quickly away, seeking to hide them from his mentor.

"I'm sorry, son." Mark felt the need to say something – no matter how inadequate it might be.

"I…" Jesse swallowed heavily. "I understand…" he muttered, thickly.

"No, Jesse, I don't think you do. This isn't my choice." He reached out and grasped his protégé's shoulder, waiting until he looked back up at him. "You know that I would do everything in my power to help you. I believe in you, Jesse. I know that you are not capable of the dreadful thing you've been accused of – any more than I am." He saw warmth soften the desolation in Jesse's eyes and sought to offer more comfort. "I would fight tooth and nail to clear your name – but that option has been taken away from me. I need you to understand that, my friend. I'm not turning my back on you. But I am being forced to step to one side."

So far, Steve had listened in silence – watching the scene play out through narrowed eyes. Then, as Jesse offered a sad little smile, he felt it was time to get some answers.

"By who, dad?" he asked, not liking the suspicious feeling that was gnawing at his gut. There weren't many people in the hospital who could order his dad around – and even less who actually would.

"By Hunter's attorney, Theodore Howell," Mark answered, with great reluctance. Now was the time for him to drop his bombshell. "He called me as an expert witness."

There was a moment of stunned silence following those words. Then Jesse – who had looked away to blink away treacherous tears – looked back at him. If Mark had thought he'd seen pain in those gentle eyes before, it was nothing compared to the agony that now stared back at him.

"You… you're testifying against me?" he asked, in the smallest of voices.

"Dad, you can't do that!" Steve's voice was filled with shocked outrage and it only served to deepen the guilt that Mark was already feeling.

"I don't have a choice." Defensiveness had crept into his tone, but he was powerless to prevent it. "The Board agreed with Howell's decision and Clifton Fisher even suggested that, by refusing, I would give the impression I thought Jesse had something to hide."

"But… you don't…" Jesse looked over at him hesitantly. "Think that, I mean…"

"Of course I don't, son." Mark offered him the warmest smile he could muster – even though his heart still felt like ice in his chest. "I know the allegations against you are completely unfounded – and I intend to prove it."

"Have you got a plan?"

Mark winced inwardly at his colleague's sudden enthusiasm. He wanted to assure him that everything would turn out alright, but he was still too much in the dark to offer such empty promises. And he was already risking compromising the investigation just by having this conversation. "I'm sorry, Jesse," he said, with great reluctance. "But I really can't discuss this with you. If Howell finds out…"

"Then you'd get into a whole heap of trouble." The brief hope that had flared in his eyes faded and died. "And I guess… I guess it wouldn't help me much, either. I, um…" He glanced down at his hands. "I should, um… I should go…"

Steve wanted to argue – to protest that Jesse didn't have to leave. They didn't have to talk about the hearing. But he knew that he was fooling himself. No matter what they talked about, if Howell found out that Jesse had been there, he would find some way to use it to his advantage – and to make things even worse for his friend than they already were.

His dad seemed to have reached the same conclusion because he didn't try and convince their young friend to stay either.

A heavy silence descended – and, in spite of his words, Jesse didn't appear to be in a hurry to go anywhere. In fact, he looked scared to death and Steve's heart went out to him.

"Jess, before you go anywhere, why don't you let my dad take a look at you?" he suggested. "I'm sure even an attorney wouldn't deny you medical attention."

"Medical attention?" Mark was instantly alert and glanced worriedly towards his friend. "Are you hurt, Jesse? Are you sick?"

"No, I… I'm okay…" In truth, his pain had been pushed to the back of his mind by Mark's shocking news, but now it began to nag at him again. "Just a little bruised…"

Mark wasn't about to be fobbed off so easily and, following Steve's directions, he carefully eased to young man's shirt open. The passage of time had allowed the bruises to darken spectacularly and Jesse couldn't stifle a cry as Mark gently probed at his injuries.

"I'm sorry, Jesse." His face darkened into a scowl. Though there was nothing broken, his friend was definitely going to be sore for a few days. "How did this happen?"

"That's what I'd like to know," Steve put in, watching Jesse as he carefully buttoned his shirt. "Apparently the CIA has decided to get involved."

"The CIA?" Mark couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. "Jess, does this have anything to do with your father?"

"I don't know. I mean, that's what they wanted to know, but I couldn't tell them and then they didn't believe me and if Steve hadn't turned up when he did…" A guilty flush suddenly coloured his cheeks and he looked up at the detective. "And I never even said thanks."

"Think nothing of it, Jess," Steve answered, with a smile.

"Well that's it. I'm certainly not leaving you on your own."

Mark's words came as no surprise to his son. He had been sharing the same thought. Unfortunately, Jesse's reaction was equally predictable.

"But I can't stay here!" His panicked eyes switched between the father and son. "I mean, it will only cause trouble and if those guys find me here… I can't let anything happen to you."

"And what about what's happening to you, Jesse?" Mark interrupted, solemnly. "You've already been hurt once and I don't want to see that happen again. And you haven't even let me check you over properly. I just don't want you to be by yourself."

"I appreciate that, Mark." Jesse summoned up a grateful smile. "But I'll be okay. I was going to check into a motel anyway." He shrugged half-heartedly. "And it'll only be for a few days." He smiled again, willing it to be convincing – but it was never going to be enough.

"I'll go with you." The solution seemed obvious to Steve and he wasted no time in voicing it. "I've got the weekend off and there's nothing pressing that needs my attention in the mean time."

"That's an excellent idea, Steve," his father answered with unmistakable gratitude. "Just make sure that you stay in touch – and I can keep you up to date with everything else that's happening."

"No, no… wait…" Jesse was still clearly agitated. "I can't ask you to do that."

"You didn't ask – I offered," Steve retorted, in a no-nonsense tone. That was when Jesse knew the argument was lost. But Steve had one more thing to add: "And seeing as we came here in my car, well, it looks as though you don't have a lot of choice."

* * *

><p>Elsewhere in LA, Miles Finnegan sat opposite Sonia Antonio and smiled. Inwardly, he was marvelling at his good fortune at having overheard her altercation with Jesse Travis – and congratulating himself for having had the foresight to arrange this meeting. He had a feeling she was going to prove to be invaluable.<p>

He'd chosen the informal surroundings of a hotel bar to meet her, wanting to put her at ease and the decision was proving to be a good one as her initial nervousness swiftly faded.

"I'm really not sure what you want from me," she said, staring into her still full glass of white wine. "I know I made my report to Jesse, but that's normal procedure. I never knew that he was going to…" She trailed off – unmistakable guilt written across her features.

"Hey, it's alright." Finnegan was quick to assuage her of any blame. "You did nothing wrong. I'm just trying to understand why Doctor Travis would do such a thing. Why would he want to hurt Bailey Hunter? I wondered if maybe he'd said anything to you, given any clue or anything."

"No, it was all done the same way it always has been – just routine questions. I can tell you exactly what I said to him. There was nothing untoward. I just gave him the facts that he asked for – I didn't even offer an opinion."

"I'm sorry, Sonia, I think you've misunderstood me," the aide interrupted smoothly. "That's not why I wanted to talk to you – to blame you in any way. But the hearing will begin tomorrow and my sole concern is to try and help Bailey get through this. He's a good man and would make an excellent Governor."

"But I don't understand how I can help you," Sonia protested.

"We have the medical side of things all under control. In fact…" he paused for effect. "Doctor Mark Sloan will be providing the expert testimony."

It was the right thing to say and Sonia's eyes widened in utter disbelief. "Doctor Sloan?" she repeated, unable to hide her incredulity.

"You seem surprised," Finnegan answered, without missing a beat. "But surely he is the most qualified man for the job."

"Well, yeah." The young woman could still hardly believe what she was hearing. "But he and Jesse… He and Doctor Travis, they're really close friends."

"I think that friendship ceases to be an issue in a case such as this. And Doctor Sloan obviously understands that learning the truth has to be everyone's top priority." He smiled and leant forwards, moving in for the kill. "I have utmost faith in his commitment and his knowledge. As for why I asked you here? Well, I'm more interested in the personal side of Doctor Travis. What kind of a man is he? Has anything like this ever happened before?"

"I don't know. I always thought that Jesse was really nice – one of the good guys, you know?" She paused for a moment and her eyes grew distant. "But there was this one time…"

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Synopsis: A suspected case of child abuse becomes embroiled in political intrigue and Jesse's career winds up at stake.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM, I do own the ones that I created.

**This chapter makes reference to the Season 5 episode 'Slam-dunk Dead'.**

Chapter Nine

"Jesse, are you sure this is where you want to stay?" Steve pulled his car to the side of the road and looked with dismay at the motel his friend had directed him to. There were, he knew, dozens of better locations he could have chosen. Unimaginatively named 'The Sleep-e-z' the entire place looked sleazy and shabby and distinctly uninviting.

Jesse didn't immediately answer. He stared out of the car window at the dilapidated structure with desolate eyes. Steve was right, he really didn't want to stay there – but he couldn't see that he had much choice. He let out a shaky sigh.

"I, um…" His gaze lowered to his hands and his voice dropped to a mere whisper. "I don't have a great deal of cash," he explained, with obvious embarrassment. "And I don't… I don't want to hit my credit cards." He made a sound that was meant to be a laugh, but sounded more like a sob even to his own ears. "You know, I might not be able to pay them off when the bills arrive…"

The attempt at humour fell completely flat and Steve had to resist the urge to offer to pay for their temporary accommodation. He knew exactly how that would be received – and he wasn't about to risk wounding his friend's pride and perhaps risking him trying to go it alone. Jesse needed him right now – not just in case the CIA goons returned, but because he was scared and lost and in no frame of mind to be left to brood. So Steve forced a smile onto his face.

"I can't tell you not to worry, Jess," he said slowly. "But I can tell you that my dad will still be behind you – fighting for you. Even if he can't do it out in the open, it doesn't mean he's going to stop looking. Nobody can stop him from doing that – or me either."

"But tomorrow, Steve…" Jesse murmured, his words catching in his throat as the realisation suddenly hit him. "Tomorrow's no time for anyone to do anything." He squeezed his eyes shut. "What… what do you think's going to happen to me?"

"_You're going to be completely exonerated. The hearing will be thrown out almost as soon as it's begun, because we'll have a plan. We'll prove your innocence. And then we can all go back to the beach house and look back and laugh." _

Those were the words that Steve wanted to say – but he couldn't. His dad didn't have a plan; he had seen it in his eyes as they'd said their farewells. Mark Sloan was deeply worried and it was also evident how much it was eating him up inside that he was being forced to play such a large part in the downfall of the man he considered very much a second son.

The situation was spookily familiar to Steve and he was remembering a dead basketball star and a missing page from a file. They'd had a conversation very similar to this one, standing on the beach on the morning of Jesse's fitness hearing. He had sought to offer comfort then – had even made Jesse laugh and taken away some of his fear. But then it had been easy. Then he'd known his dad would be by Jesse's side and the truth would, inevitably, win the day.

This time, he was not so sure. And, more than anything, he didn't want to admit that thought aloud to his friend. The only trouble was that he had no idea of what else he might say.

Jesse must have sensed his dilemma because, as the silence stretched, he let out a shaky sigh.

"Well, at least you didn't mention the twenty thousand bucks they paid me," he said – again failing in his attempt to lighten the mood.

Steve looked away, feeling suddenly guilty for being unable to find any words of reassurance for his friend. Then his brow creased into a frown as he thought about what Jesse had said.

"Jesse, about the money… Have you been in contact with the bank?" he asked, seeking some way to take action, to be helping his friend – instead of just sitting there feeling so utterly useless. "Do you know who actually paid it into your account?"

"It was the newspaper guy, wasn't it?" Jesse turned puzzled eyes towards him. The answer seemed obvious. "I mean, that's what the attorney said." Except he hadn't said it. He had merely insinuated it. "Who else could it have been?"

"It might be worth trying to find out," Steve responded, automatically switching into full detective mode. Time was short, but he worked well under pressure. "I know you didn't sell out, Jess and the money was put there in an attempt to frame you. Now I don't think that the LA Times is responsible for this, so if we can figure out who paid you the money – and it is a hell of a lot of money – then maybe we can start figuring out why."

Jesse glanced back out of the car window at the dingy motel that was soon to become his home. "Do you think we should get checked in first?" he asked, sounding as though it was the last thing in the world he wanted to do.

"It can wait," Steve answered, sharing the exact same sentiment. "Somehow I don't think they'll be fully booked by the time we get back."

* * *

><p>The visit to the bank turned out to be a complete waste of time. All they learned from the clerk was that the money had been deposited the previous day, by wire, from an overseas account. They wouldn't even have got that much had Jesse not been there to insist that, because it was his money, he had every right to know its source.<p>

Things deteriorated rapidly from then on and the man wouldn't even tell them if it was possible to accurately trace the source of those funds – and Steve's badge had done little to impress him.

If it was so important, he had snidely told them, then they had better get a warrant. Bank employees, he'd said – looking pointedly at Jesse – took their obligations of confidentiality very seriously indeed.

They had left then and, once they were back out in the car, Jesse sat with his head bowed and looking more disconsolate than ever.

"It didn't take long for word to get out, did it?" he murmured.

"Jess, the late editions will have hit the newsstands by now," Steve surmised, still irritated by the attitude of the teller. "And some people are just gonna believe everything they read."

"So what do we do now?"

"I'd like to talk to the guy who wrote the story in the first place." Steve was seeking to find some way to remove the hopelessness enshrouding his friend and the only way he could do that was to keep him busy and not give him time to dwell on the forthcoming hearing. "I want to find out exactly where he got his information from."

"Yeah, he did know an awful lot, didn't he?" A thoughtful note crept into Jesse's voice. "And there aren't too many people who could have told him so much." Then his face clouded over as he remembered the bank clerk. "Do you really think he'll talk to us?"

Steve bit back a sigh. He wasn't used to having Jesse tag along while he conducted an investigation, however much he had helped him in the past. And he knew that the doctor's presence would make any bluff about him being on official police business virtually impossible to pull off. But nor did he want to leave Jesse alone – not in his current frame of mind and certainly not with the threat of the CIA hanging over him.

The detective had been vigilant ever since they'd left the beach house, without letting Jesse know he was being vigilant, but that didn't count for a whole lot when the CIA was involved. There was still a strong chance they were being followed.

He was also acutely aware of how emotionally wrought his friend was at that time. The last thing they needed was for him to lose his temper with the reporter, for what he was going through. Not only might it prevent them from getting the answers they needed, but it could also do infinitely more damage to his case. Another headline was the last thing he needed. So, as far as Steve was concerned, actually going to see the journalist was not an option.

Aware that the silence was, again, stretching out too long, he gave himself a mental shake and offered the younger man a smile.

"I think we'll find out a little more about him first," he said, going for the safe answer. "It's always easier when you know who you're dealing with."

"But he writes for the Times," Jesse reminded him, needlessly. "I mean, it's not like he's just some hack."

"Which only deepens the mystery. He's a respectable journalist writing for a broadsheet. You'd think he'd check his sources carefully – but somebody managed to convince him that they were you." Steve glanced at him sidelong. "I don't suppose you happened to get the reporter's name?"

"I didn't look all that closely," Jesse murmured in response. "But I don't think it even mentioned my name. I think it just said 'the doctor in charge of the case'."

"Which brings us straight back to who would be able to pull such a thing off? If it was a tabloid, then maybe I could understand it. But whoever spoke to the reporter must have known their stuff."

"You mean like… another doctor?"

"That would be my guess," Steve answered, grimly.

* * *

><p>They ended up back at the 'Sleep e-z' motel without Steve even making the conscious decision to go there. But he needed to make some calls and – more importantly – he needed to be able to keep an eye on Jesse. Checking into the motel seemed to be the easiest way to achieve both aims.<p>

The twin room they booked into was surprisingly clean – in spite of the outward appearance of the place. The furniture was old, the carpets and curtains threadbare, but it wasn't the squalid dive that Steve had been trying so hard not to envisage.

His gaze settled on Jesse, who was standing in the centre of the room and looking a little lost. Then the younger man turned towards him and gave him a sheepish smile.

"I, um… I guess we should have swung by my apartment…" He shrugged, helplessly. "I don't… I don't have a change of clothes and I'll be needing my suit for tomorrow…"

Steve could have kicked himself for overlooking such a fundamental detail. He had thrown a few things into an overnight bag before he'd left the beach house – and he had even thought that he could pick up some stuff from Jesse's – then it had promptly slipped his mind.

"Dammit." He hadn't intended to utter the curse aloud, but he obviously did as Jesse shot him a stricken look.

"I'm sorry." The young doctor seemed driven almost to tears by this latest setback. "I should've thought of it before we left my apartment…"

"It's okay, Jess," Steve was quick to reassure him. "I didn't think of it either. Um…" He ran one hand through his hair, trying to think of a solution.

"Couldn't we just go there now?" Jesse offered, seeking to make amends for what he saw as his stupidity. "It wouldn't take long."

Steve sighed heavily. With everything that had happened, his young friend had obviously forgotten the hoards of reporters now camped outside his home. They wouldn't simply have gone away, just because their target didn't appear to be at home. They would still be there, waiting for the merest glimpse of him – ready to bombard him with questions, seeking some kind of a response, some quote that they could twist and use to sell their rags.

But he didn't want to remind Jesse of that; didn't want to add to his ongoing emotional trauma.

"Let me make a couple of calls first," he temporised. "I want to try and get hold of that reporter."

"Is there anything I can do?" Jesse asked, hope flaring in his eyes.

Steve couldn't immediately answer. There really wasn't a lot that Jesse could do and yet he was loath to shoot him down. The young man was on edge and – active at the best of times – wouldn't be able to sit on his hands while his very career was being threatened.

He easily recognised the look in those blue eyes: the anticipation at helping out; the eagerness that was, thus far, keeping his fear somewhat at bay. There was no way he was going to extinguish that light.

"Jess," he answered, after a moments thought. "You said that you'd been working on some kind of a report... You were going to send it to…" He frowned, striving to remember the details.

"The State Child Protective Service Agency," the younger man supplied, helpfully.

"Right. Now, I'm guessing you don't have a copy of that report with you?" At a shake of the blonde head, he continued: "Do you think you could remember what was in it?" he asked.

"Sure." Jesse's brow creased in puzzlement at the question. "It's a straightforward… Oh…"

"What?" Steve prompted as a crestfallen look instantly replaced the former eagerness.

"The report…" Sudden panic flared in his eyes. "I don't know where the report is. Steve, if it goes missing… They're just gonna say I gave it to that journalist…"

"Easy, Jess. Let's not start thinking the worst," the detective answered, even though he was hard pressed not to do the exact same thing himself. "Just because you don't know where the report is doesn't mean it's missing. When was the last time you saw it?"

"I…" He hesitated, thinking back. How difficult could it be to remember something which had happened only that morning? "I had it in the morgue…"

"The morgue?" Steve raised a curious eyebrow.

"I went down there to think. I…I needed some space, you know?" Jesse didn't wait for an answer, but continued with his train of thought. "Then Amanda came down to find me and…" He shook his head in angry frustration. "I can't remember what I did with it. I don't even know if I had it in my hand when I went up to Mark's office."

"Jesse, if it's in either of those places, then my dad or Amanda will have picked it up. They'll know to keep it safe." Steve offered him a reassuring smile. "I'll call them."

"Thanks." Jesse relaxed the merest fraction.

"So, why don't you make a start on writing down whatever was in your report?" Steve pulled his notebook from his pocket and handed it to him. "That way we can start to narrow down who had access to such specific information."

"The answer is me, Steve." The young man's despondency returned full force. "I was the only one. How much narrower do you want it to get?"

Steve just stared at him impassively for a moment, offering neither censure nor condemnation for the sarcastic response. It was, he knew, just a coping mechanism for the young man. It was woefully inadequate – but it was all he had.

"I'm sorry." It was Jesse's voice that broke the silence. "I'm just… I'm really scared, you know?"

"I know, Jesse. But we are trying to get to the bottom of this."

At last a smile lit the young doctor's face. It was a smile only born of gratitude and its appearance was fleeting, but it was a start. His eyes fell to the notebook that he held: "I guess I should get on with the report, then."

* * *

><p>The phone went unanswered at the beach house. Steve had the brief hope that it was merely because his dad was sleeping – though he highly doubted it, not when Jesse was in such dire straits. Then he tried Mark's cellphone and found it to be busy – which blew his 'sleeping' theory right out of the water.<p>

A part of him was happy to know that his dad was busy trying to help their mutual friend – but a much larger part couldn't help but worry. A quick glance at his watch confirmed that the older Sloan had been on the go for the best part of twenty-four hours.

He glanced towards Jesse to ensure that he hadn't figured out the same thing, but the blonde was oblivious to everything but the notepad in front of him and Steve couldn't help but smile at the sight of him chewing on the end of his pencil – looking for all the world like a schoolboy concentrating on his homework.

He tried Amanda next and, this time, the response was better. She was still at the hospital and had to be paged, but at least he got to talk to her. And she told him the first good news he had heard all day. She had found Jesse's half-finished report and it was safely under lock and key in her lab.

Moving into the kitchen area so as not to be overheard, he thanked her profusely – probably laying it on a bit too thick – then got round to the other reason for his call.

"Amanda?" He interrupted her gracious acceptances of his thanks. "I need you to do me a favour…"

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Synopsis: A suspected case of child abuse becomes embroiled in political intrigue and Jesse's career winds up at stake.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of DM, I do own the ones that I created.

**I can't apologise enough for the lengthy delay in posting this chapter. For too many reasons to count, writing has been very low on my list of priorities. I'll try to update more frequently but, sadly, I can't make any promises.**

**Sincere thanks to everyone who is continuing to support this story.**

Chapter Ten

Steve was feeling marginally better when he headed back towards where Jesse still sat. Amanda's news about the report had been a very small victory – but it was a victory all the same.

"Good news," he said, as he crossed the short distance between them – determined to give his friend something to smile about. "Amanda…"

He trailed off as he realised that Jesse wasn't paying him any attention whatsoever. But it wasn't because he was so lost in the task Steve had been set for him. The notebook lay in his lap and Steve could see that not a single word had been written. The pencil was still being mangled by Jesse's teeth, but that seemed almost an automatic action – again, not brought about by any concentration.

Instead, it looked as though the younger man had lost himself in his thoughts – thoughts that were, judging from the sadness in his eyes, anything other than hopeful.

"Jess, Amanda found your report." Steve strove for some sense of normality – not wanting to startle him too greatly. "Jesse, did you hear me?"

"Huh?" At last, glassy blue eyes swam back into focus but it was clear from Jesse's expression that he hadn't heard a word.

"Are you okay?" Steve frowned with sudden concern – and his concern only deepened when he found tear-filled eyes gazing up at him. "What is it?" he asked, wondering what could have changed in the short time he had been on the phone.

"I, uh… I was thinking about my dad…" Jesse blinked rapidly and momentarily lowered his gaze, seeking to hide his tears. "I'm really worried about him, Steve. Do you think I should call him?"

"I don't think that would be a good idea right now," Steve answered, on a sigh. He didn't want to put obstacles in his friend's way, but he wasn't about to expose him to any danger. "This is the CIA we're talking about here and I'm not sure that any phone line in this country is totally secure – much less one from a motel room."

"But they think he told me to do it," Jesse retorted, his agitation growing. "They think he's involved. I need to warn him."

The young doctor was on his feet even as he said those words, the notebook falling unnoticed to the floor – the pencil dropping from his nerveless grip. Steve recovered quickly and caught hold of his bicep as he passed him by. At the flinch – and the frightened cry –this invoked, he was brutally reminded of just what the CIA had done to his friend that very afternoon. He released his grip and settled instead for laying one hand on his shoulder.

"Jesse," he reminded him, gently. "Dane knows how to take care of himself."

"I know he does, Steve." The younger man didn't sound overly convinced. "But like you said, this is the CIA. I don't know how their hierarchy works, but I'm pretty sure they wouldn't like their agents being accused of election fixing and having to drag them away from whatever assignment they're on in order to question them!"

"Calm down, Jess." Steve's eagle-eyes instantly picked up on the sudden pain that flashed across his friend's features. The agitation had obviously aggravated the bruising to his ribs. Using a gentle hand, he guided the doctor back towards his seat. "Don't you think maybe those guys just used your dad to try and scare you?"

"Well, if they did then they certainly succeeded." Jesse sank miserably back into his chair. "But what if they weren't bluffing, Steve? They said they wouldn't be so 'nice' if they started asking him questions." His hand automatically went to his midriff as he remembered what their definition of 'nice' had been.

"I don't know that there's a whole lot you can do about it right now." When Jesse looked ready to protest at those words, Steve never gave him the chance: "You can't call him – you don't know who might be listening in – and any contact you made with him now would only add fuel to their suspicions."

Jesse visibly sagged as the wisdom of the detective's words finally got through to him. He looked up at his friend – knowing how lost and helpless he must have looked, but completely unable to hide those feelings. "But what am I supposed to do?" he asked.

Sudden empathy flared through Steve. He knew exactly how he would feel if there was even the remotest chance that his dad was in danger. And Dane was always in danger – it was the very nature of his work. He didn't need the added peril of his colleagues not being one hundred percent behind him.

It was also indicative of his friend's very nature that he should spend his time worrying about somebody else, instead of the predicament that he was in. The simple solution would be to clear Jesse's name, prove him innocent of any wrongdoing and that, in the process, would take away any problems for Dane.

As a solution, it sounded ideal. But Steve knew that real life was rarely – if ever – so easy. It didn't matter that he knew Jesse hadn't leaked the report. It didn't matter that he had complete faith and belief in him. _He_ wasn't going to be sitting on the investigatory panel – and _they_ were the ones they had to convince.

He might not know how to ease Jesse's fears, but he did know how to unearth the truth. And, if he could find some way to distract his friend for long enough, he was confident he'd be able to do exactly that.

* * *

><p>Amanda had readily agreed to Steve's request for a favour. Nothing he could have asked would have been too much if it meant she was helping Jesse – and it had seemed such a small thing he'd wanted. Now she realised that she might have underestimated the size of her task.<p>

"_Grab a few things from Jesse's place," he had asked her. "He'll need a suit and a clean shirt for tomorrow – and then just a couple of bits to tide him over in a motel for a couple of days."_

Yeah, real simple.

The first problem had arisen when she'd turned onto Jesse's street and then found it impossible to park, because of scores of cars and news vans effectively blocking the road. She had been forced to leave her own car half a block away and walk the rest of the distance. Then she had tried to get into the apartment complex itself.

"Excuse me? Ma'am? Are you a resident here?"

As soon as the first voice had called out, a dozen more swiftly followed. Did she know Jesse Travis? Was she a neighbour? A friend? Would she have believed that he was capable of what he was accused of?

Amanda kept her head low as she fished for her keys. Thankfully, Jesse had given her a spare set when he'd been on vacation once. She couldn't imagine that any of the residents would be willing to let her into the building. They must have been feeling even more besieged than she was at that moment.

Once she'd got the main door closed behind her, Amanda leaned back against it and let out a pent up breath. She was silently thankful that Steve had managed to get Jesse away from the complex before he'd had to go through something like that – which, she knew, would have been a thousand times worse for him.

She, herself, had had to forcibly bite her tongue in order not to react angrily to their invasive questions.

If she had leapt to his defence – if she had let slip just how close a friend Jesse was – then it would have made getting away from the apartment virtually impossible. Worse still, some of the more intrepid reporters might have been tempted to follow her.

That, she grimly realised, left her with a whole new problem. How was she supposed to get back out – and past the press pack – whilst laden down with men's clothes, without arousing suspicion?

* * *

><p>"Mandy!"<p>

Amanda looked up at the sound of a man's voice and a smile reached her lips – in spite of the abbreviated use of her name. She had tried to correct Simon Gerrard when she'd first met him, but he had never quite grasped just how much she hated the shortened name. He was, as people kindly put it, a little backwards – but Amanda had found him to have a kind and generous personality and a heart of gold.

He was the son of the apartments' landlady and also doubled up as a caretaker. She had met him on numerous occasions, as he seemed to like Jesse and would go out of his way to do him favours.

"Hello, Si." He wouldn't answer to his full name and refused to use anyone else's. Mark had foxed him when they had first met, before he settled on the compromise of calling him 'doc'.

"Jess ain't home," he informed her. "But there's a man fixin' his door."

Amanda's smile faded as she heard those words. Steve had told her that Jesse's apartment had been broken into, that he'd had some trouble with CIA agents, but he hadn't gone into much detail. He had, he'd told her, temporarily secured the apartment – but it seemed that his stopgap measures hadn't been sufficient for him and he'd taken steps towards a permanent solution.

"Mom's with him," Si continued, mistaking her expression for one of worry. "She'll make sure he don't touch Jess's stuff."

"I'm glad you're here, Si." She paused, choosing her words carefully. Si could take things very literally. "Do you know that things aren't going very well for Jesse right now?"

"Oh, yeah!" Sudden animation lit the young man's features. "Those reporter guys were lookin' for him. I told them he ain't here; my mom told them he ain't here, but they won't quit!"

"No, they won't," she answered slowly, a glimmer of an idea beginning to form. "Si, Jesse won't be coming back for a couple of days. He's staying with his friend for a little while."

"Oh." Si's face fell. "But he is comin' back, right?"

"I'm sure he will, honey," Amanda quickly reassured him. "But the trouble is that he left in a real hurry and he forgot to take any clothes with him." She smiled at the giggle her words invoked – and knew that Jesse would be in for some ribbing from his neighbour when he did return. "So he asked me to get some things for him."

"That's okay. You're his friend. You can go in."

"Actually, Si, I was hoping you'd help me…"

* * *

><p>Jesse had tried to do what Steve had asked of him, he really had. But there were too many distractions, too many stray thoughts constantly vying for attention. He still hadn't written a single word on his notepad.<p>

One thought in particular was bothering him more and more – and eventually he gave up on the pretence of trying to concentrate. A moment later, Steve wandered back over from the kitchenette, pocketing his phone as he did so.

"No luck with the Times," he said, his displeasure evident on his face. "They've got the legal boys out trying to counter this lawsuit and aren't talking to anybody. They're shielding the reporter – John Brentwood his name was – from any more controversy."

"Uh huh." Jesse had guessed that would be the case. "I, uh… I've been thinking…"

Steve nodded as he moved closer to his friend. That much was obvious. The paper he held was still blank; the pencil – its end a mangled mess – had fallen, forgotten, to the floor.

"My report, it never got finished; never got sent to the State agency," Jesse explained. "Where does that leave Jordan Hunter?"

"My dad's taken over his care, Jess. I thought you knew that."

"Yeah, I did. That's not what I'm talking about. I mean, my report… It wasn't finished…" He looked up at the detective, eloquence deserting him as he struggled to get his point across. "It should have gone in today and then there'll have been an investigation… But what's gonna happen now? Who's gonna investigate? Who's gonna find out what happened?"

Steve closed his eyes briefly, feeling exasperation sweep over him. He had to physically resist the urge to reach over and shake Jesse; to try and knock some sense into him; to tell him to stop worrying about everybody else for once in his life and concentrate on his own troubles.

But he might as well have tried to tell the sun not to rise in the morning. Such compassion was a part of who Jesse was – and Steve wouldn't want to change it for the world. He only hoped he could come through the next few days with that spirit still intact. He offered his friend a smile.

"If it'll make you feel any better, Jess, then I'll look into it myself."

"Thanks." The softest of smiles touched the young doctor's lips.

"In the meantime, don't you think you should be concentrating on tomorrow?" He wasn't about to let his friend off the hook completely and he looked pointedly at the discarded notebook. "Everything that was in your report and everything that wasn't. We need to figure out who had access to that information."

Jesse's smile turned sheepish as he realised how much of their precious time he had wasted lost in his thoughts. He retrieved the pencil from where it had fallen.

"I was trying, Steve," he said, unable to keep the desperate note out of his voice. "But there is nobody and… The more I think about it, the more scared I get. I've got to go in there tomorrow without a defence, without even anyone to defend me." He glanced away as his friend's eyes softened in sympathy. "I don't stand a chance."

"There's always a chance, Jess." Steve dropped a reassuring hand onto his shoulder. "And whatever happens tomorrow, or in the days that follow, we're not going to stop looking. We'll clear your name, Jesse. I swear."

Jesse couldn't immediately answer. He had every faith in his friends – God knew they had come through for him often enough in the past. But in all honesty, this time he couldn't see anything they could possibly do. As his thoughts had chased themselves around his head he had come to the unwelcome conclusion that, if had been on the outside looking in, then even he would have been convinced of his guilt.

Steve looked down at him, watching the play of emotions cross his expressive features. He wanted to believe the detective, but was obviously having a hard time doing so. Hope never once lit his eyes. He was also very, very scared and was – Steve realised – barely holding things together.

That observation was only reinforced when there was a sudden knock at the door and the younger man practically jumped out of his skin.

"Take it easy, Jess." Steve gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Just wait there."

But he had to physically stop his own hand from twitching towards his holstered gun.

TBC


End file.
